Reforged
by SleeperAwakens
Summary: Harry's encounter with Voldemort in the end of the first book didn't end like we thought. Riddle didn't pass an opportunity to screw with the boy's brain. In the end, that small difference ended up changing Harry into someone who would become so much more than merely "Dark Lord's equal"...
1. The New Me

**Disclaimer**

I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't be posting this here instead of selling it in the book stores across the globe.

**Author's note (half-rant, half-teaser)**

This story has been growing from a small plot bunny for a couple of years already. Bunnies multiplied, breeding like... well, rabbits. How many stories out there featured **good **world-building? Very few. When have you read something that had magical races done well? What fics can you name that had Harry fighting smart, using tactics and exploiting his environment and not just going all wand-a-blazing (HPMOR doesn't count, it's another league entirely)? Illusions? No?

Next, we all know how a typical RPG works. You get a hero, you hack/roast/stab mooks into oblivion; you get loot, get experience and become more and more awesome. One word, people: Artefacts. Why hasn't anyone ever thought about making Harry an artificer and have him wear enchanted apparel into fights? I remember only four or five stories** toying** with the idea.

I can rant long and hard while recounting all those missed opportunities, but I'll just say: good for me. If no one ever did what I'm about to do, then my story is going to be much, much more unique. And so, with much more pride than it probably deserves, I present to you the "Unstable". It is a prequel to my main story which I will start uploading approximately by November, 2015. And it will be much, much more awesome. This here, ladies and gentlemen, is just a writing exercise, so don't take it too seriously.

**Chapter 1: The New Me**

Harry Potter knelt on the floor, staring at the mortal remains of the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. He felt weak and sluggish, staggered by the weird burning in his veins that had started the moment Quirrell touched him and had grown stronger as the boy, encouraged by the consequences of this action, grasped the professor's head, making it crack and glow like the burning embers of the fire in the common room.

Harry's vision started to darken a bit and he shook his head, forcing himself to stay awake. This action did nothing but summon a bout of nausea. He groaned quietly. _Great. Just great. After a heroic confrontation, throw up and/or faint. The Harry Potter patented method to avoid the inevitable clean-up. All rights reserved._

It was when he defeated the urge to introduce his dinner to the floor that he noticed the thin wisps of smoke that were rising from the burned husk on the floor. They slowly gathered together, forming a horrifying likeness of a mask surrounded by smoky tendrils that slowly swirled in the air currents. The "mask" was eerily similar to the face that had been sticking out of the back of Quirrell's face not five minutes before that. Harry stared at the abomination in horror, not knowing what to do. It opened its mouth and with a furious scream launched itself at the boy. He didn't have time to even blink before the wrath entered his head.

That hurt.

That hurt a damn friggin' lot.

Harry thrashed in agony while that thing was tearing into his mind without a care. As it often happens when it comes to the Mind Arts, the unlucky first-year instinctively knew what Voldemort was trying to do. Either he'd control him in order to make a last attempt at the Philosopher's Stone or, if that proved to be impossible, reduce him to a vegetable-like state. He felt the monster pick at his own thoughts, memories and feelings, discarding them after a brief glance as unimportant. After a while Voldemort stopped and Harry felt a distinct tinge of shock, followed by pensiveness and then a dark glimmer of amusement, which somehow made the pain in his head even worse. After that, the process sped up, the presence in the boy's head only "touching" the contents of said head before continuing.

Harry did not know for how long he was lying there, shuddering and whimpering in pain. It surely felt like hours, but Legilimency contact usually speeds time for the participants, so it could be just a few seconds. Finally, he felt Voldemort reach a decision, pausing in his search. The pause gave him a chance to breathe and blink a few times, before the Dark Lord began to tear into his brain with renewed vigour. In the first second of the torture Harry decided that the wraith was going to cut his losses and finish him off.

Afterwards he would say that the feeling was not unlike being lobotomised without anaesthesia with a dull spoon. The boy could feel that his consciousness was being torn apart. He even stopped caring about it, the only thing that he wanted was to dull the pain. Harry tried to focus on the surroundings but to no avail. Then he tried to concentrate on the not-quite-burning in his veins, with moderate success. With every second, the headache was lessening while the awareness of this strange feeling was intensifying.

At last, the agony that he was in just a couple of minutes before vanished without a trace. He tried prying his eyes open and managed to notice the wraith leaving his head and fleeing the room. Maybe even screaming.

The last thing that Harry remembered as he was falling into the warm, comfortable embrace of unconsciousness was seeing a fiery bird flow into the room, an old wizard right behind it.

The boy survived that, all right. He always did. However, the aftermath of the confrontation showed that Voldemort wasn't as unsuccessful as Dumbledore would believe.

Harry wasn't the same after that day. Granted, the differences were faint, easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for and equally as easy to mistake for the after-effects of a close brush with death. However, the changes were there.

Before, Harry was a quiet kid, only speaking up when in the – admittedly – small circle of close friends. Now, he spoke much more often, but sometimes had periods of prolonged thoughtful silence, not saying anything at all. When he was like that, people tended to leave him alone for some reason, as if he was holding a big, red 'Do Not Disturb' sign over his head. After the silent spell passed, he tended to have some sort of crazy idea or a paradoxical thought in his head.

The new regime of noise production, however, was the least of the changes, even if the first to be noticed by the ever-vigilant Hermione. She also noted the fact that he was rather more absent-minded than when they first met.

During the summer Harry was barely holding back from doing something, anything, to escape the Dursleys. After a house-elf appeared with a warning of something terrible coming to Hogwarts and landing Harry in a heap of trouble, the boy was literally **itching** to act like a wizard for once and do a runner. However, Harry knew that he was forbidden to cast magic outside of school and was reasonably sure that if he did, the Ministry would know and kick him out of Hogwarts, so he braced himself and prepared to wait until September. _Someone will notice if I'm not at the train. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, __**somebody **__will wonder. After that, it's only a matter of time._

He didn't like it – children of his age aren't patient by their nature and Harry wasn't that different from the others, sudden bursts of heroic valour notwithstanding – but he was stubborn and set to follow his plan, not listening to the occasional impulses to try and do some wandless magic to free himself. Fortunately, not very long after Harry's incarceration Ron and the Weasley twins came car-a-flying to his rescue. The freedom soothed him, not to mention the fact that he was greatly encouraged by the loyalty shown to him by his friends.

The new Harry wasn't that different in his likes and dislikes, though. He still hated Malfoy, even if he was slightly more verbal in expression of said emotion. When Harry was walking away from another confrontation with the blond ponce in which they almost came down to hexes in the beginning of the new term, Hermione started ranting at him and Ron.

"Honestly, I still can't understand why you don't simply ignore him! And even if you don't, it's no reason to point wands! Violence isn't the answer!"

"She's right, it's not. Violence is a question, and the answer is 'yes'!" Harry said in a snarky tone, making Ron snort and comment in a faux-thoughtful tone.

"Well, unless the question is 'What do we do with Malfoy?', then violence is a perfectly suitable answer..."

After Halloween of that year Harry decided that his second year sucked worse than a leaky vacuum cleaner.

It started off with the disaster that was his and Ron's unorthodox arrival at Hogwarts. Harry let himself be talked into flying to school on the Weasley family car despite being sure that it was a monumentally bad idea. Needless to say, he was right, as a month of detentions could prove.

Then, they found out that their new Defence teacher was somehow even worse than Quirrell. Usually, Harry kept his snarky comments rare and out of classroom (the only lesson that could inspire him was Potions, and he wasn't suicidal enough to provoke Snape). However, in the Defence classroom, the boy seemingly decided that he was morally obligated to mutter disparaging and sometimes hilarious remarks almost non-stop. Ron, of course, decided to show such a noble calling his heartfelt support.

"So when the hag saw the amulet I was wearing, she turned and ran! I, of course, let her be – live and let live, I say…" the obnoxious professor was regaling the audience with yet another tale from one of his numerous books, causing the male half of said audience to glare at him with boredom and/or contempt, while female contingent was staring at him with adoration. Even Hermione, whose brilliance was never questioned, just like the fact that water is wet is never doubted, was staring at the blond fool with something akin to hero worship.

"More like you ran from the hag screaming like a little girl. You would never remember to Apparate – if you even know how to do it in the first place," Harry muttered, drawing on the parchment. After he finished, he poked Ron with his elbow and showed the result. The redhead bit his lip hard, trying not to laugh as he looked at the magically animated picture of Lockhart running from a vague small figure, his blue robes flowing after him a-la Snape, his flip-flops squeaking with every stride, barely noticeable over the continuous and extremely high-pitched screams.

At least the two friends were learning something, even if it was drawing animations and subtly casting one-way silence charms on their table.

"I continued my journey and after three days I reached the mountains, where, from the tales of the locals, I was able to find the banshee I sought," Lockhart glanced at his watch. "Well, it seems that our time is over. The rest of the story will be told next time, but you could always read it in my magnificent book," he gave the class his best award-winning smile, causing a couple of girls to sigh.

"Magnificent, my non-existent arse," Harry grumbled, standing up and creaking his neck with a loud crack. "Ah, that's better. I'm telling you, those books are nothing more than hard cover autofellatio..."

Ron smothered his laughter, turning it into an enormous coughing fit as Parvati Patil, who was sitting nearby, squeaked and went red. _Yes,_ the ginger decided,_ it's not all bad to have such a ponce for a professor at times like these, even if I spend half of the DADA lessons red from trying to suppress my laughter to levels manageable by the silence charm. There are worse ways to go than burst a blood vessel trying not to laugh at a joke about the similarities between Himalayan kittens and blood-sucking hyenas._

The attacks that occurred that year set Harry on edge. The trio spent countless hours trying to guess what exactly was happening in the castle. They were researching with a determination that was slightly scary. It only increased after Hermione got petrified herself, as if the boys tried to make up for her share of books scanned.

They even followed Hagrid's suggestion to 'follow the spiders', as vague as it was. They did get almost eaten for their trouble, but it was worth it, as it gave them the last clue they needed. Aragog said that his kind didn't dare speak its name, whatever the unknown threat was. Only one creature was both regarded as a mortal enemy of spiders and had an ability to petrify (under certain conditions, according to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them): the basilisk. The King of Serpents.

Yeah, that certainly qualified as a Name-To-Run-Away-From-Really-Fast.

Unfortunately, the boys didn't exactly have a choice in this, or so they thought. Ginny had been taken to the chamber. Harry and Ron, in a final attempt to get enough bravery to go and search for the chamber where a certifiable monster lived, visited Hermione. In her fist, they found a book cut-out with the description of basilisks along with a hastily written word.

Pipes.

A simple leap of logic gave them the location of the Chamber. They quickly got some cannon meat in the face of Lockhart and took a literal leap of faith.

What followed, though, was a disaster.

**The 6th of June, 1992, the Chamber of Secrets**

The blinded basilisk thrashed in pain. In its fury, it managed to land a glancing blow at the firebird, which was quite small in comparison to the hell-knows-how-many-feet snake. With a surprised squawk the phoenix was thrown into a snake-shaped column. The bird fell to the floor and didn't move anymore – unconscious or dead, Harry didn't know.

"Fawkes!" he yelled. "Damn it!"

Harry swore loudly and ran towards the farthest statuesque column, his heart thumping loudly from the adrenaline in his veins.

"Kill the boy! You can still smell him!"

"Run, run, run, run like hell!" Harry chanted to himself, panting from exertion and influx of adrenaline.

Judging by the sounds, the sodding snake had slithered after him. Harry gritted his teeth after assessing his chances of survival. _I have next to no chance of running away, not with the wet floor and the speed of the basilisk._ A split-second decision caused him to stop by the closest column and after gathering his courage, he turned around, raising the sword of Gryffindor. _Hopefully, the snake will miss and will be stunned by collision with the column. Merlin, Morgana and Maeve, help me..._

The snake stopped no further than five meters from the tired boy, slightly swaying and turning its head, searching for him. After a couple of seconds, it struck without any warning. Harry stumbled back a bit at the snake's strike – miraculously avoiding the teeth by a couple of inches. Regaining his footing, Harry slashed at the snake's nose, trying to hinder as much of its capability to smell him as possible. Unfortunately, the blade made very little damage – a flesh wound at the most. The basilisk roared and reared back – a scratch it may have been, but it did aggravate the monster further. Not pausing to confirm the boy's whereabouts, it struck again. This time it didn't miss. But... neither did Harry.

The basilisk reared back again, shrieking in agony – its brain was pierced by the blade that the boy somehow managed to hold on to. Harry fell to his knees and shuddered violently. He could feel blood in places that it wasn't meant to go into at all. It was as though liquid fire had formed in his veins. The floor shook when the titanic serpent, finally surrendering to the clutches of death, fell, providing the force to drop Harry to the wet floor. His vocal chords seemed paralysed – every part of him was begging for the pain to cease.

Riddle was saying something – Harry didn't listen to him. His vision was blurring- his senses were slowly shutting down, rendering him blind, deaf and mute. He knew instinctively that he was dying, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. _The pain will finally stop. I will see my parents. Yeah, that will be nice. _Harry smiled.

With half-closed eyes Harry managed to see a red flash._Fawkes? What are you doing here, buddy? Go to Dumbledore, get him to return, he'll make it all better. Oh, are you crying? Why? It is not that sad that I'm dying..._

…

_Hold your basilisks._

His vision regained its focus. Suddenly, Harry could see Fawkes crying on the wounds in his shoulder and arm. He could hear Riddle gloating.

After a moment of processing the scene before him, Harry lifted his still weak left arm and pulled out the broken fang that pierced it. The staggering pulse of pain that followed this action forced him to yelp, summoning the attention of the Dork-Lord-To-Be.

"What? You blasted bird!" Fawkes was thrown against the wall – again. Riddle was fiddling with Harry's wand and frowning at him.

"Ah, yes. Phoenix's tears. I forgot about them. There's too much poison in you for them to work completely, but I won't risk it. You managed to kill my basilisk – an incredible feat … especially with the hand you've been dealt."

Harry gritted his teeth. Fire in his veins, cooled for a moment by Fawkes's tears, was burning again. He looked around to find something – anything – to help the situation. Thoughts about giving up and dying left his head completely, vanishing like a mirage after a glass of water, as if they were never there. Harry wanted, no, needed to fight on. And at that moment, near his wounded right arm he saw Riddle's diary.

Harry would readily admit that he wasn't very smart, but he did have his moments of brilliance, and fortunately it was one of those. The young wizard gripped the basilisk fang with his now somewhat functional left arm and raised it over the black book.

"What are you doing?"

He ignored Riddle – which was very easy, as at the time all of his focus was on the fang and the Merlin damned pain that was encompassing his whole body. He dropped his arm with the fang on the diary.

The last thing Harry heard before falling into the blessed embrace of unconsciousness, satisfied with his last little trick, was a soul-piercing shriek of agony, and to him it sounded like a choir of angels.

Riddle screamed and convulsed, frothing at the mouth, growing paler and more translucent with each cry. Riddle was ending.

And he realized it.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was not a fool by any means. He knew he would die if he didn't do something drastic, as his anchor to this plain was destroyed and his soul, as frail and torn as it was, was experiencing an undeniable pull of the Other Side. Riddle had nothing to lose and everything to gain, so he went all in.

He cut the magical line that connected him to the remains of the diary and concentrated on retaining his current form. The pull wavered.

Riddle envisioned himself as a cloud of energy and willed himself to lose all tangibility he earned from siphoning the magic from the Weasley girl to conserve the energy. From his admittedly limited study in true soul magic he knew that he had only one option – to become a wraith and seek out his elder counterpart, assimilate him and thereby anchor himself with all the Horcruxes that were created after the diary.

With a soft "poof" Tom Riddle Jr. coalesced into a wraith and immediately left the Chamber. He had someone to find.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Fawkes slowly crawled from the corner in which he was thrown. He steadily pulled himself over to the prone form of the boy he set out to save earlier, his wing no longer obeying his orders and instead dragging on the wet floor, accumulating a cover of millennia-old grime. The phoenix pulled, pushed and finally sat at the barely-breathing boy's chest. Not paying attention to the awakening girl nearby, the bird inhaled deeply and set itself ablaze.

_The hatchling is barely alive_, Fawkes thought, _the poison of the Great Serpent is nearly done with its task. And his mind is wounded as well, nearly split into two parts. I have to correct that. Such bravery cannot go without reward._

The flame surrounded Fawkes and Harry both. And then there was light.

**Fifteen minutes prior, Headmaster's office**

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not having a good day.

It began with him being summoned back to school, about which he was both relieved and wary. While it was good news that he was suddenly being reinstated as the headmaster, he was afraid of what could have caused it.

He was right to be afraid.

The youngest of the Weasley family was taken to the Chamber of Secrets, and judging by the morbid message on the wall, she was not likely to escape it alive. And if that wasn't enough, her youngest brother and with Harry Potter were nowhere to be found. If they had somehow guessed the location of the entrance to the Chamber, he was afraid for their lives despite their ability to escape life-or-death situations relatively unscathed, as shown previous year. Albus frowned.

If he was honest with himself, his inability to find the Chamber was greatly vexing to him. He was one of the most powerful wizards of Europe! He had single-handedly kept the political situation in the whole region stable. He had manipulated, persuaded, and bribed to protect the people in all of Britain – and Albus knew that most of the time, he was the sole barrier that has stood against the Darkness. It has been so for a long, long time, and by Merlin, he was good at it.

Then came the attack on the Flamel residence while both Nicolas and Perenelle were away. His good friend, and mentor, was not amused. The attacker retreated after seeing a couple of documents, which stated that the stone was locked in a Gringotts' safe. Fortunately, said vault was a part of the trap that Nicolas created to deter those who would wish the wonder that was the Philosopher's Stone for themselves. The real stone was somewhere else, in an unspecified location in the wilderness of Ural, in the middle of a cave warded to high heaven, so it was not threatened. The scary part was the magical signature that the wards "remembered".

Albus immediately recognized it as belonging to one Tom Riddle, although it was rather dim and nearly completely masked by another signature that after a couple of minutes of thought he realized belonged to his previous Muggle Studies professor that just the day before applied for the DADA position.

It was decided that together, Nicolas and Albus would make a trap for the wraith of the Dark Lord. The headmaster sent Hagrid to the vault to collect the fake stone, knowing that he would inevitably make a show for those in the know. Hagrid was a good man, loyal, simple, brave, and not without his own brand of wisdom, but subtle he was not. The break in still occurred, as Voldemort seemingly did not connect Hagrid coming to the bank with the Stone at first, but Dumbledore knew that he would know what's happened when presented with an empty vault.

The fake stone was to be planted at Hogwarts so as to lure Voldemort out. At the first staff meeting before the school year Albus cheerfully told his professors about the presence of The Stone in Hogwarts and requested them to create a set of defences around it. He himself made sure so that the protections would not harm anyone – not seriously. It took a couple of sleepless nights, but Albus had personally charmed the Cerberus not to injure anyone who was younger than twenty years old, only scaring them away. The Devil's Snare would restrain without killing because professor Sprout regularly fed it with bovine blood, the keys would issue a non-lethal electrical shock, the chess figurines would knock out anyone who tried to pass them and the troll would do the same. The poison vials contained the Draught of Living Death and the flames were also enchanted to put whoever went past them to sleep.

The protections were designed to stall, delay and frustrate, along with some truly ancient and subtle defences that would stump any but the most powerful and experienced wizards but wouldn't really harm anyone who didn't possess any malicious intent. Albus would always look after Quirrell, and when he couldn't, he'd asked Severus to watch over the poor misguided boy. Unfortunately, Albus, in his quest to redeem Quirrell, had forgotten that Voldemort, despite being quite insane in his later years, was still a man of great intelligence. Getting to the stone, therefore, was easy if time consuming. Getting out, though... that would be much, much more difficult, as anyone who would attempt to leave the room with the fake in their hands (an unlikely event, given the difficulty to overcome the intent reading ward on the mirror, but still possible) would have to face all the previously 'easy' obstacles, empowered to a ridiculous degree and really going for the kill. And should it be done, all the staff in the castle would be already converged on the third floor, ready to attack en masse.

Yes, it was a good plan. But as the common saying goes, barely any plans survive contact with the enemy.

One day, not a week from the end of the school year, Albus received a letter from a German colleague of his. It hinted that there was a serious need to talk about a recent development and stating that it was a very grave matter, to the degree that Claudean, the man he was supposed to meet, had come personally to the ministry. He would have Flooed to the castle, the letter said, but unfortunately the Floo network was down for maintenance. Seeing that Quirrell was currently sick and couldn't leave his quarters, Dumbledore alerted Severus and Minerva and immediately took a Portkey to the Ministry. However, Claudean wasn't in the Ministry. When Albus finally found him in the Leaky Cauldron three hours later, they quickly found out that someone had somehow forged both the letter to Albus calling him to the Ministry and the letter to Claudean to summon him to Britain and not specifying the place.

Tom had always been a brilliant student.

Quirrell easily distracted both Severus and Minerva (not that it was hard in a castle full of students) and immediately went for the stone. As Albus wasn't in the castle, the obstacles didn't serve any purpose other than to annoy Voldemort. The revered Headmaster felt himself an utter fool that day. The only benefit this fiasco was that now he was sure that Harry had some degree of protection against Tom. If only this knowledge didn't come with the price of Quirrell's life and Harry's innocence. The poor boy was heavily shaken by the whole situation, but didn't show it overtly. The Flamels, in the meantime, had used the destruction of the fake stone to fade into the background of the wizarding world. Albus knew it wasn't likely that he'd see them again in his lifetime and he doubted that young Harry would either.

Then came the events of this year. No matter what Dumbledore did, no matter where he searched, he could not find the Chamber. The ghosts didn't see anything suspicious, there were no portraits at the attack sites, and the sweep of the castle during the winter holidays was unsuccessful. Whatever or whoever directed the attacks was also elusive. Albus knew that to truly close the Chamber he needed to find the culprit first, and concentrated on this task. Looking back, it probably would have been better if he decided otherwise.

And now, because of his failure, a young girl was dead or dying. It was in these moments that Albus felt as old as he really was.

The Headmaster sat stiffly in his chair, waiting for the Weasleys to arrive. They needed to know what happened, as much as he hated to be the one who brought this kind of news. He tiredly cleaned his half-moon glasses and turned to his familiar.

"Whatever should I do, Fawkes?"

A solemn trill was his answer. Albus sighed and almost turned away, but a sudden movement drew his attention. The venerated warlock watched, stupefied, as Fawkes suddenly, took flight, snatched the sleeping Sorting Hat from its place and vanished in a flash of flame.

"Where are you going, my friend? And why did you need the poor Hat?" Dumbledore muttered to himself as he rubbed his forehead and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "Alas, I am much too old for these antics."

Approximately an hour later, when he was consoling the sobbing Mrs. Weasley, Andrew McGraffet, the Head Boy of this year, entered the room with a bewildered look on his face.

"Professor? There's a…" he struggled for the right word. "Situation?"

"What happened, Andrew?" the old Mugwump looked at him, secretly hoping that he had any kind of good news. The Head Boy coughed, glancing at the Weasleys, and said:

"Well, it's Moaning Myrtle, sir. She's pestering the professors and saying that Miss Weasley sent her."

"WHAT?!" was the shocked answer of the whole room. Andrew shrugged.

"She says Miss Weasley, her brother, Professor Lockhart and Harry Potter are in her toilet for some reason. Says they need us to get them out of… well, she never quite specified. Oh, and from her wailing Potter is unconscious."

Twenty minutes and not a second longer – that was all it took to retrieve the children and the… slightly unhinged professor. Albus didn't feel particularly sorry about his situation: he'd hired the man specifically to expose him for what he was… well, and because nobody else had applied. Being unaware of his previous actions was better than Azkaban, anyway. Unfortunately, Ginny and Harry were another story entirely. Harry was out of it, and even though the scanning spells showed absolutely no damage to him, it didn't mean that no damage occurred. As evidenced by his lack of clothing and the young form of Fawkes on his chest, the boy was harmed enough that the Fire Rebirth was needed. He must have been almost dead! Well, not surprising, considering the truly titanic dead basilisk in the main chamber and the charred book near Harry's arm. Said book still had a fang impaled in it. Miss Weasley was quite inconsolable about being the cause of so many injuries, especially to Harry. After a stern talking-to, she was eventually taken home by her parents. Albus recommended for her to see a Mind Healer to deal with the stress of being possessed and asked the family to be together as much as they could this summer for the sake of their daughter.

Young Mr. Weasley told Albus how they were able to find out where the Chamber was located and what exactly the monster inside was. Dumbledore shook his head in astonishment – Filius was the one who'd checked that toilet, how could such an entrance elude the Charm Master? After the talk, he inspected the sink that contained the entrance and found a subtle concealing ward that worked on everybody who didn't know the location of the Chamber and wasn't a Parselmouth. It was quite ingenious.

Now, all that remained a mystery was what transpired in the Chamber. He could guess, of course, and already had a most probable estimation of those events, but he needed to seek a confirmation. Something only Harry, reluctant to wake up, could give.


	2. Awakening

**Author's note**

Allright, folks. After this chapter some people have complained about how my Hermione is annoying, bossy and insufferable and Harry is a wimp for not standing up to her. I think I need to explain this.

I have not made it secret that I plan to make character development a major part of this story. I've got some major plans for Ron and I told you this. The fact that Harry will be slowly changing as time passes by is kind of obvious. But Hermione... I wanted to make changes in her view of world and behaviour even more drastic in the end compared to how she is now. So I made her slightly more overbearing. Bossiness is the key trait of her personality - not the book obsession, as some would think, and not the respect for authority. As such, it will be the trait that will be subject to change as she grows up. So bear with me, she will gradually tone it down.

As for Harry's seeming passiveness, the reason for this is his relative maturity. He doesn't strike me as a childish person. So he doesn't argue with Hermione when he knows she's right. He may grumble before doing as she asks, but rest assured, if he truly doesn't want to do something, almost nothing will change his mind. Maturity aside, he is one stubborn bastard.

On with the show.

**Chapter updated: 30.09.14**

_"When will I be able to do that, Teacher?" Harry stared at the magnificent creature in front of him with amasement, barely remembering to close his mouth. The elderly green-cloaked man chuckled and shook his head._

_"You have not yet even begun your training, and I have been an Archdruid for almost twelve years. To you, I'll say the same thing that I tell nearly every other initiate: keep moving forward, never losing the sight of your goal. Even if the goal is as... mundane as being able to do some flashy tree magic."_

_"I have been moving forward ever since I left home. I have no other direction," the boy looked at the druid with a wry grin. "On the bright side, it makes it easier for me to learn."_

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Awakening**

* * *

**Two days after the Chamber Incident, the Hospital Wing**

Usually Harry woke up in an instant, being asleep one moment and awake the next. This time, however, he came to the waking world slowly, unwilling to let go of the sensation of being slowly rocked, as if he was sleeping on a ship. Harry felt extremely good, but tired. Mentally tired, as if he had been sitting with Hermione again and trying to understand the concepts that usually were not touched until the next year. But also he felt complete. It was a feeling that was completely new to him.

When he finally opened his eyes, he immediately shut them again. _Light. Too much light._ Not risking a peek, Harry checked his other senses. From the softness of the bed and the slight odour of potions in the air he deduced that he was currently in the domain of the resident healer.

_Why would I be here? What happened?_

His memories were reluctant to return to him. He slowly coaxed them, remembering the last day he could recall. Thoughts were moving around in his head as sluggishly as flies in the autumn. It took him a good five minutes to understand what exactly led him to being stranded in care of madam Pomfrey. He slowly rose from the bed and looked around. There were none of the others. Even the corner that was previously occupied by the petrified was empty. That meant he was asleep for more than a day.

Harry was not left gawking at the beds around him for long – Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, laden with potions, and bustled over to his bed. _I swear that woman has monitoring charms on top of monitoring charms all over the wing so that none of her victims escape her grasp. Not for a lack of trying from the students' side, heh._

"Finally awake, Mr. Potter?" she asked, waving her wand over him, muttering to herself as she did. The boy didn't bother to watch, only moving and breathing deeply when she ordered.

"Evidently," he answered. "For how long…?"

"A bit more than two days. Now don't blink."

Immediately he felt an inexplicable urge to blink.

"How are the others? Ron, Ginny?"

"Both are fine. Miss Weasley left with her family yesterday."

He nodded, relived. And blinked.

"Mr. Potter!"

"Sorry, sorry. What kind of test needs me to stop blinking, anyway?" Harry grumbled. She harrumphed.

"The ones that will show if you will be allowed to leave here faster than in a month."

He barely managed to resist rolling his eyes.

"Fred and George will bust me out," he declared, smiling slightly in the remembrance of the Operation "Grand Theft Harry" they pulled the previous summer.

"They will do no such thing if they want me to fix them the next time some pranked girl hexes their privates off. You can blink."

He winced._Ouch. Poor blokes. What did they do that warranted that? And who the hell is the girl that I will avoid at any cost for all my remaining schooling?_

"Well, everything seems to be in order so far, but you can never be too sure."

Harry groaned.

Nearly an hour later madam Pomfrey, seemingly satisfied with the number of tests she'd done, released him from her iron grip. She told Harry that the dinner will start soon, so he should go down to the Main Hall. The boy exited the Hospital Wing and leaned on the wall. Suddenly, the enormicy of what he'd done hit him like a heap of snow from the tree branch above.

_Well, give me a horse and call me Saint George: I've done it. I've actually done it! __I encountered and killed the basilisk. With. A. Sword._

_Also, the Nearly-Bodiless-Tom. Which really was a memory of Voldemort sealed in his school diary._

That thought brought an amused smile to his lips._ An evil megalomaniac with a diary? What was Voldemort doing during his Dark Lord 101 seminars?_

_Doesn't matter. The question is: what happens now?_

Harry was then distracted from his thoughts by a truly monstrous grumble in his stomach. He chuckled and set off to the Great Hall with the clear intent to pig out worse than Ron who for some unfathomable reason skipped a meal. Unfortunately, he was stopped about halfway there by professor Dumbledore.

"Harry! Hello, my boy, it's good to see you in good health," the Headmaster said jovially.

"Thank you, sir," Harry answered with a smile.

"I would like to talk to you about the details of your latest adventure, if you have a minute," Albus asked, receiving a shrug in reply.

"Fine with me, sir."

"Excellent. Now, if you would follow me," he turned around and went in the opposite direction from the Great Hall. The boy looked down the stairs mournfully, able to hear the sounds of the beginning dinner, not to mention the smell that caused his stomach to state loud and clear that it was not very happy with him. Sighing, he went to follow the Headmaster.

After a few minutes they found themselves in a familiar study. Just as the last time, Fawkes sat at his perch in his KFC form. Professor Dumbledore sat behind the table and gestured for Harry to sit on the opposite chair, which he did. Fawkes trilled softly, and the youth somehow got the impression that the bird wants him to pet him, which Harry to the phoenix's obvious delight did.

"Lemon drop?" The Headmaster asked, his eyes twinkling as he held out the bowl, and after a slight hesitation he took the offered sweet. The Headmaster looked at him in astonishment.

"In all my time here, only five people took one."

Harry popped the sweet in his mouth and shrugged. He needed a sweet to somewhat sate his hunger, as his gut told him that this was going to be a lo-o-ong talk. And the lemon drops weren't that bad – true, the boy's mouth couldn't decide if the object inside of it was too sour or too sweet, but it wasn't really unpleasant. He briefly wondered if one could get a sugar high from a couple of these drops, then thought what it pertained for the Headmaster, who consumed them in vast numbers. The mental picture of Albus Dumbledore under a sugar high caused Harry to immediately press an emergency stop button on that train of thought.

"So, Harry, after listening to the tales that mister and miss Weasley shared with me and looking at the Chamber of Secrets, I'd like to hear your side of this story."

Harry collected himself quickly and slowly began to speak. He told him about the beginning of the investigation that he, Ron and Hermione started and about their daring infiltration of Slytherin common room (which certainly amused Albus, though he didn't show it aside from the pronounced twinkling in his eyes). Harry told him about his and Hermione's deductions and his own lucky guess about the location of the entrance.

After Harry started retelling the events that transpired in the Chamber, Fawkes, still in his lap, returned the favour and when he was overwhelmed with the memories and struggled to speak, the bird softly trilled, lifting his spirits.

In the end, when the story was finally completed, Dumbledore grew silent. For a minute nobody made a sound (trills from Fawkes notwithstanding). Then the Headmaster spoke:

"Harry, down in the Chamber you has shown incredible bravery and loyalty, the simple fact that Fawkes came to you proves that. And in doing so, you saved an innocent life, not to mention foiling a plot against Hogwarts – and me. Once again, you have proven to be incredibly resourseful when it is needed. Well done, my boy. Well done."

For the youth in question to hear the sincere praise from the only mentor figure in Harry's life was very touching. He lowered his head and blushed, starting to blink._Damn those bugs_. After a couple of seconds, though, he lifted his head, trying to understand the headmaster's statement.

"A plot against you, sir?" he inquired. Headmaster sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Unfortunately, Harry, I have reasons to believe that the one of the main reasons of the strange occurrences of this year is my banishment from Hogwarts."

The boy stared at him for a couple of seconds before he understood.

"Malfoy?"

"I cannot prove that, but several memories that were provided to me, along with some precious common sense, tell me that Lucius Malfoy was the instigator of the plot," Professor Dumbledore replied heavily. It was with a titanic effort that Harry held himself from growling.

"So there is nothing we can do, sir?" he grounded. Albus shook his head.

"Alas, nothing overt can be done at this point. I've managed to get Mr. Malfoy off the Board of Governors, but otherwise he got off clean."

"Very well. Can I go, sir? Maybe I'll be able to eat at least some dessert before the dinner's end," this statement was accompanied by another grumble of Harry's stomach, which made Dumbledore chuckle.

"Of course; oh, and I just might have extended today's dinner."

"Really?" he perked up. Dumbledore chuckled again and nodded. Smiling, Harry bid both him and Fawkes good evening and left to look for Ron or the Main Hall – whichever he stumbled upon first.

_Food now, pondering on the question of the Universe, Life and Otherworldly Crap later._

Harry was in luck – as it was a meal time, both were found together. When he entered the Hall, the boy immediately started to look for Ron and Hermione. His search didn't take long: they were both rising from the Gryffindor table to run towards him. He felt his mouth stretch in a wide smile as he walked to meet them. Hermione went at him like an avalanche goes at an old shack, tackling him and babbling something happily about his success in the Chamber of Secrets.

Honestly, she wanted to punch them for not going to the teachers and deciding to face the basilisk by themselves. But despite her anger at them for being **boys** she just couldn't bring herself to it. So hugs it was.

Afterwards, when they sat down at the table, Hermione was visibly bouncing with the urge to shake the story out of him, which frankly made him a bit warm inside – it's unbelievable how much he had missed her. Still, he couldn't help but gulp at her x-ray-like stare. Madam Pomfrey was very vague in her description of the events that transpired in the Chamber when telling Hermione what happened, and the holes in the story she's been told were glaringly obvious to her. Even Ron's story was unfortunately incomplete. But it was not the time – most of the students in the Great Hall were staring at Harry and nearly everybody at the Gryffindor table were obviously either waiting for him – or anyone else for that matter – to clear the situation out or doing so themselves in the most famous ritual of Hogwarts: gossiping. Harry, to Hermione's greatest surprise, didn't seem perturbed by it in the slightest. He didn't pay the whispers and stares any mind and currently was inhaling his pancakes with jam.

Immediately after the quick dinner Hermione dragged Harry and Ron to an empty classroom. She closed the door and performed a standard silencing spell that she had read about in the tome "Practical spells for the practical wizards". Then she turned back to the bemused-looking Harry and said in a flat voice:

"Tell me everything."

For a second Harry definitely wanted to crack a joke but after looking at her he grew serious, sighed and sat on the nearest table. And tell he did.

Periodically Hermione had to stop him and ask for details – he obviously wanted to spare her them, but though the sentiment was certainly appreciated, she wanted none of it. In the end, when he finally stopped, they sat in silence for a while – she digested the things she's been told while Ron and Harry waited for her judgement. And after a minute of silent contemplation, she finally voiced her thoughts:

"I love you guys. I do, but you are this close..." she held up her thumb and index finger, less than an inch apart. "…to getting strangled! Harry, Ron, what have you been thinking?!"

Both of them recoiled when Hermione directed her best Death Glare in their direction. When she was assured they were sufficiently cowed, she sighed and shook my head.

"I leave you alone for a **month** and immediately you go to face a basilisk. A BASILISK! Well…" She looked at them and allowed herself a small smile. "I'll just have to stick with you all the time from now on, won't I?"

For a second they just stared at each other. Then all at the same time they burst into a heartfelt laughter and all was right with the world once again.

The remaining time before the summer holidays was… strangely anti-climatic. The exams were cancelled, to Hermione's sincere disappointment - something which Harry and Ron teased her about mercilessly, though they stopped when it became **glaringly **obvious (literally, that girl probably could win a glare-off with Snape) that they were in danger of crossing the line. When the time came to choose the additional subjects, she dragged both boys to her usual table in the library and patiently talked to them on their choice subjects. After a heated and long discussion Harry tiredly leaned back on his chair and proposed to ask the older students, who had already completed their OWLs and could give some realistic advice. Frankly, Hermione was surprised that he had thought of that (and she gave herself a mental kick for not thinking about it herself and only consulting the books). After a while, when she found a couple of sixth-year Ravenclaw girls and interviewed them, she had her answers. So when Hermione met up with Harry and Ron (who were arguing whether they could trust the information they got from Fred and George), she told them in a voice that allowed no room for counter arguments:

"We will take Arithmancy, Care for the Magical Creatures and Study of the Ancient Runes."

They stopped their discussion and sat down. Harry motioned for her to do the same and give him her notes on the different subjects. After she obliged, he read aloud, inserting his comments on the way:

"'Ancient Runes: must have' – underlined twice. 'Runes are needed for an obscene amount of jobs – from enchanting toys to curse-breaking'... 'Subject is said to be difficult, though very logical – to truly exceed in it you need language skills or a lot of work'. I wonder if knowing Parseltongue qualifies as 'language skills'?" He glanced up at Ron who smothered a snicker. "Nah."

They both rolled their eyes and continued:

"'Arithmancy: it studies the magical properties of numbers, but more importantly, it is the basis of spell-crafting'. Wait, you mean we will be able to create our own spells? That's awesome! Oh, wait." He raised his eyebrows at the post script. "'The most difficult subject in Hogwarts'… 'Primary requirement: to be good at maths'. Well, I was rather good in the primary – that is, until my Uncle got wind that I was doing better than his precious Dudders and beat me up. After that I never repeated that mistake. Oh, well."

Hermione stared at him in abject horror._He was beaten for doing well in class? That's… that's… blasphemy!_

Pointedly refusing to look at both Hermione and Ron, who stared at him with the same wide-eyed expression he got when he faced something extremely unsettling, Harry coughed and went on:

"'Care of Magical Creatures: exactly what it says on the tin. It's a study of various beasts with magical origins, from pixie to dragons. From what students say, the course is relatively easy and mostly practical'. Now that gets me really interested."

Ron perked up while Hermione rolled her eyes. _Trust the boys to choose the easiest subjects._

"'Divination: extremely easy, though completely illogical subject'. Hermione, we are wizards – 'illogical' is up there in the job description. Or requirements, I guess. We daily tell the laws of Physics to sit down and shut up, for Merlin's sake! Nevertheless… 'The teacher is most likely a fraud and during each lesson predicts a violent death of a currently present student. Why she does it is unclear'. Well, it sure sounds like a crappy course."

"And a creepy one." Ron grumbled while scratching his knee.

"Are you sure that your information is correct?" Harry asked, smiling slightly at Ron's mutter.

She nodded. He hummed and continued to read.

"'Muggle Studies: supposedly, the course dedicated to learning the culture and technical advances of the Muggle world. In reality, the course is vastly outdated and taught by a pure-blood who wouldn't know what a TV is if it was dropped on his head'. Whoa, touched a nerve, didn't it?"

She silently sent him a glare. Harry shrugged and looked back at the paper.

"So… Muggle Studies and divination are definitely out – I already know enough about muggles, and though knowing the future sure would be awesome, I'd be better off learning it on my own. Care sounds interesting, I'm in. I think Hagrid will be glad to give us a few pointers. Now, about Arithmancy and Runes I'm not so sure…" he trailed off and looked at Hermione, who intensified her glare. He leaned back slightly and nodded:

"Care, Arithmancy and Runes. No objections here."

She moved her glare at Ron. He also gulped and agreed.

_It's good to be heard._ \- Hermione thought smugly.

In the evening of the same day Hagrid returned to Hogwarts, to the joy of the Gryffindors and the staff. As soon as Harry saw the smoke that was coming from the hut near the forest, the trio of friends immediately went over for a visit. After the first heartfelt greetings they were ushered inside and presented with the traditional three huge tankards of tea and a plate with rock cakes. While Ron and Hermione were telling Hagrid the whole story behind the Chamber of Secrets, Harry was looking at the Keeper of Grounds and Keys with widened eyes.

Hagrid looked like shit.

An enormous pile of shit, granted, but that only added to the effect.

His beard was not as bushy as it had been before, his eyes lacked that characteristic cheer of his, he seemed a lot thinner than before – heck, compared to the Hagrid Harry met two years before, this version looked positively gaunt!

"Hagrid," Harry breathed, interrupting Hermione's rant about his recklessness, "What did they do to you?"

There was silence.

"Azkaban," was the quiet, foreboding answer, "Is the hell on earth. The guards," Hagrid shuddered, "Dementors – they are horrid creatures. Their presence causes you to relive your worst memories. They say a dementor feeds on happiness and joy."

The giant of a man shook his head.

"Those who are imprisoned in Azkaban go mad within a year or two. I heard them screaming sometimes."

The trio was at a loss for words. In the silence Hagrid suddenly sighed and smiled at them tiredly.

"But enough of that. I heard you don't have exams this year?" Rolling their eyes at the obvious attempt to change the topic, the three friends nevertheless started to talk about the lack of exams, the boys mostly keeping themselves from making smart comments.

The last few days before Harry's departure to Durzkaban, as he started to call it, were promising to be extremely boring for all three of them. Well, it was more like two weeks of absolutely nothing to do. The exams were cancelled, flying was out, playing chess with Ron was not as exciting as it once was (when it came to the chess, Ron was a bloody genius, while both Harry and Hermione sucked big time. Playing and losing was only interesting to a certain point). So the last five days of the school year found the inseparable three in the library.

After a short research session conducted by Hermione they have found a rather easy charm that was laconically and clearly named "Oculus Magi". Yep, magical vision. Its function was to show to you different wards and enchanted objects together with an approximation of what the enchantment was. What completely sold it to Harry was the simple fact that the sustained, long-term version was used on monocles or glasses!

After Hermione learned both the sustained and non-sustained versions (the latter was cast on the eyes), she helped the boys to learn it. Immediately after that Harry cast the spell on his spectacles and looked around, mystified. He blinked attempting to get used to the change. Some objects in the surrounding area seemed to be surrounded by pastel-coloured bubbles. Around Hermione and Ron he saw a slightly pulsating aura-like glow. A little exploration showed that some of the books were encased in bubbles, which, according to the magical atlas, signified preserving enchantments of some sort. Harry immediately remembered the screaming book in the Restricted section. This memory brought forth an idea that made him to want to cackle. If he wasn't afraid that Madam Pince would throw him out of her library for the noise, he would have. That lady was scary. He immediately told Hermione and Ron about his idea and after their reluctant approval was gleefully rubbing his hands together.

That evening, the first Restricted Section Raid was conducted.

Well, you know how it always goes – you have that absolutely brilliant idea that has a potential to bring you profit if executed right, and the first test-drive, so to speak, ends up being **craptacular**.

"SHITE!"

Harry ran out of the library faster than Snape who saw a bottle of shampoo. The wailing and swearing of the books that sounded at his back just spurred him on to run faster. It appeared that all the books in the Restricted Section were specifically enchanted so that the action of opening the book outside the confinement of the shelves triggered the alarm and summoned madam Pince and/or Filch. Oh, well.

The next day Harry, Ron and Hermione developed a new strategy, which the former implemented with great success in the same night. The plan was simple and brilliant – if the book doesn't wish to be read on the table and wants to stay on the shelf, then transfigure the shelf into something resembling a table!

The second Restricted Section Raid was a success. Harry was able to read the book by opening it within the confines of the shelf. The other books were levitated from it and placed on the floor - they couldn't make a racket if they were not opened. As the boy wanted to read something that would clue him in about what Voldemort did to him last year (he wasn't oblivious to the fact that one day he woke up and started thinking a bit differently, you know), Harry looked around for some books on magical neurology or psychiatry or something like that, but, unfortunately, the only book he was able to find on the topic was "The Magicked Mind". Inside of it he found references to the different ways the mind could be influenced by different kinds of magic – nearly all of them were previously unknown to him. The Legilimency and Occlumency (both of which he resolved to learn sometime later), compulsion charms, different mind-influencing wards, a short topic on the Unforgivable curses, a long chapter on the side-effects of self-transfiguration (especially Animagism), and rather more dark branches of magic such as Necromancy (which sometimes made its practitioners nearly emotionless) and blood magic. The latter drew his interest – according to the chapter 'Blood transformations', psychological effects of blood rituals that involved the blood of other species tended to have unusual side-effects. As an example, author wrote down the story of an anonymous fifteenth century duellist who wished to have the magical resistance of a troll. So he learned a bit of blood magic and in a ritual absorbed the blood of a mountain troll. He succeeded, in a way – from that moment on, he could shrug off minor hexes and stunners, but judging by the book, he absorbed more than that. He died – amusingly – by running head first into an ancient oak.

Harry closed the book with a disgruntled sigh. Unfortunately, it seemed that when it came to understanding the stuff involving the contents of his lightning-scarred, messy-haired, spectacle-eyed head he was on his own.

**Leaving feast**

"Harry, stop moping. It doesn't suit you," Hermione said in a slightly irritated tone. The boy in question grimaced.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to spend the whole bloody summer with the Dursleys..."

"Language, Harry. And you will have to spend only a month – the Weasleys return after that and you already have the permission to stay with them. So chin up and eat, you didn't touch your food and the train leaves in an hour. You don't want to be hungry for the whole trip."

He smiled at her and exchanged fond looks with Ron._I can't believe how much I missed her all the time she was petrified; you truly do begin to value what you had only after you have already lost it. Now where did __**that**__ thought come from?_

Harry's musings were interrupted as professor Dumbledore, who stood up with the obvious intention to make a speech. When the students grew silent, he smiled and said:

"Another year at Hogwarts has come to an end! I congratulate everyone on passing their tests and say goodbye to those who are dining the last time at this hall as students. I sincerely wish you all well in your future endeavours and remind you that even after leaving Hogwarts, those who ask for help here will always receive it. Now, I say to those who will return here after the summer: try to empty your head in these two short months so that you can stuff it with knowledge once again in the next year! Thank you."

Many cheered, even some of the Slytherins, who usually were much more reserved than that. Ron shook his head.

"Well, I certainly plan to empty my head. From what Bill has told me, Egypt is great for relaxation when you need it. The wizarding part of the country is, at least."

Harry nodded absently. Yesterday, an owl from Mrs. Weasley has delivered the letter about their lottery winning. The whole family decided to go to Egypt to visit their brother, Bill. Harry was glad for his best friend, but it would be a long summer until he could escape the Dursleys again. He sighed dejectedly and shook his head, but his lips were quirked ever-so-slightly.

_I've been through so much already. Really, what could go wrong?_


	3. Summer of Wonder

**Chapter updated: 30.09.14**

_"Sirius..." Harry breathed, looking at the sight before him with boggled eyes._

_"What? I totally told you that you will like it!" the man grinned at him. The boy swallowed, turning his head to follow a scantily clad Veela who swayed past them._

_"That secrecy oath was worth it. So worth it."_

_"Hah! I said the same thing when I was here the first time!"_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Summer of Wonder**

* * *

Summers at Privet Drive were always the same, as were the autumns, winters and springs. Not that Petunia Dursley was complaining, of course – the stable life she'd been living suited her just fine, thank you very much! That summer so far had seemed to be continuing this tradition.

Dudley had finished his school year, though he barely passed the exams. But she couldn't blame him for that! The poor boy had been complaining about his headache for a week before the exams! Unfortunately no medicine Petunia gave him could quell his pain. It was good that the migraines finally went away by themselves by the beginning of holidays.

Vernon was proud of his son of course: but he was becoming more and more agitated, as the date when their nephew would return grew nearer. Frankly, Petunia was worried about her husband. Whilst he was an upstanding citizen, when it came to his nephew he became unreasonable. Certainly, she held no love for the no-good freak, but his escape a year ago showed that he had friends and what's more– that his freaky friends were ready to go to certain lengths to help him! So in the evening before the feared day, she decided to talk to Vernon.

After Dudley went to sleep, Petunia told Vernon, who was currently glaring at the calendar like it was his mortal enemy:

"We need to talk about the boy."

He grunted and glanced at her shrewdly. "What about the freak?"

She sighed and told him about her reservations about the boy and his friends.

"Ha!" He snorted with contempt. "I'm not afraid of a bunch of snot-nosed freaks. They can't do anything to me – they're forbidden from using their freakishness during the holidays."

"True," she conceded, "but what would you call that monstrosity of a car of theirs?" Petunia parried. "And even if they aren't able to hurt us, then maybe they can call an adult, who this time will not only give Duddikins a pig tail, but turn him into pig completely!"

That thought gave Vernon pause. After considering it, he grumbled: "Fine. As long as the freak does nothing and keeps out of my sight I will keep away from him."

"That will be reasonable," was the reply. She turned to leave the kitchen when she remembered something that made her blood chill.

"Vernon, but what about Marge? She said she'll visit us, and who knows what will happen if she annoys the freak!"

Vernon grunted, unamused by the very thought. "I'll think of something."

**Next day, Hogwarts Express, somewhere in the middle of Scotland**

The trip to London was eventless, the traditional visit from Malfoy notwithstanding. Insults were exchanged, threats were made, the ponce left. All in all, it went as usual. Well, other than Harry hexing him out of the car with a slightly underpowered Depulso to the crotch. The expression on Malfoy's face was priceless. After Draco's rather ungraceful exit (there might have been some hopping involved) there were no more distractions.

Ron planned the summer and ate chocolate frogs in quantities that would make anyone not familiar with him to double-take.

Hermione planned the summer around her homework and pestered both boys about their own essays.

Harry quietly dreaded the summer and did everything he could to steer off the topic – unsuccessfully.

Finally, the ride was over.

He stepped from the train and inhaled deeply. That was a mistake he immediately regretted, as he started coughing. There was something rather pleasant about the smell Hogwarts Express' engine emitted, but Harry wouldn't recommend breathing too deeply in its immediate vicinity. After he regained control of his lungs, he exchanged warm goodbyes with Hermione, Ron and everyone who was still friendly to him during the "Heir of Slytherin" phase. Sadly, it was a rather short list. In fact, it only consisted of his dorm-mates, the Gryffindor Quidditch team and the two Ravenclaws Hermione roped as her study partners. After that was over with, Harry had no choice but to head towards the Muggle section of the station.

Harry exited platform 9¾ and scanned the crowd; it only took a couple of seconds to spot the Dursleys. It wasn't hard. Even Aunt Petunia, who was a fairly unnoticeable person in comparison to Uncle Vernon or Dudley, stuck out like a sore thumb with her pinched facial expression. The reason for the nearly palpable distaste was standing near the rich-looking couple who could only be the Grangers. Mrs. Weasley, in her worn dress, was talking to them a mile a minute and rather loudly. Mr. Weasley was standing right next to her, listening to the conversation with rapt interest and visibly holding himself from starting to question the Muggle couple. Harry smiled in wry amusement. No doubt Aunt Petunia heard the conversation and was seething that obviously successful and normal people are willingly associating with the so-called freaks. The disgust on her face was almost worth the fallout that he would no doubt experience when she took her anger out on him. He rolled his eyes and strolled towards the Dursleys.

"Uncle, Aunt, Dudley. I'm here," he greeted them. Aunt Petunia blinked at the formality.

"Nephew," she answered. Uncle Vernon simply grunted, turned and walked away without saying a word. Dudley was also silent through the short exchange. Harry shrugged and followed Vernon.

With little difficulty he loaded his trunk and Hedwig's cage in the car (Harry let the snowy owl fly to Privet Drive on her own). He sat on the backseat and stared out of the window whilst his uncle drove the shiny vehicle. The car was obviously new and Vernon obviously delighted at driving it at the maximum speed he dared.

When Harry felt his stomach was in a state of civil unrest, he first thought that he had a motion sickness. But he was a Seeker – sharp twists, turns and rolls on high speed never before made him sick. It was after a couple of seconds of introspection that he realised that it was the stench of Dursleys that was causing problems. The sweat, the breath and a myriad of other odours permeated the car, causing an understandable reaction from the only person who was unused to it. The poor boy barely made it to Privet Drive without emptying his stomach on the pristine leather seats. After the car stopped, Harry wobbled out of the backdoor as fast as he could and just stood there for a while, trying with all his might to stop his breakfast from re-introducing itself to the world. After the urge to eject his digestive system stilled a bit, he turned toward the car and grabbed his belongings. Thankfully the Dursleys had already entered the house without attempting to confiscate his trunk. Harry blinked in surprise and struggled to his room.

It was later that evening, that he realized their new strategy – ignoring him as much as they could, other than giving out general chores like gardening.. That suited Harry just fine – live and let live was a wonderful way of life. Especially so considering the most probable alternative.

The only minus was that he was critically bored. Talking to Hedwig was a reprieve, of course – his beautiful owl always gave him the impression that she understood everything he said – but it could only occupy so much time. He'd done his homework – to his (exaggerated) chagrin and Hermione's glee, which they expressed in their letters. Despite the neutral behaviour of his relatives Harry was longing for the moment when he would be able to return to the Wizarding World again.

It seemed his silent prayers were heard. On the morning of sixth day of Le Comte de Monte-Potter's imprisonment in Durzkaban, Uncle Vernon called him downstairs. He mentally sighed and came down, expecting the relative peace come to an end. His uncle was standing near the kitchen door and frowning. Thankfully for Harry's ears Vernon's face was only a slight shade of red - a three at most on the Vernon-Richter Scale.

"Boy!"

"Yes, uncle?" he asked politely, schooling his features into a mask of polite interest.

"My sister Marge is coming in a week. She will not suffer your presence."

"What do you mean, sir?" Harry asked, his insides twisting. _Were they going to imprison him in his room and take away his things again? If so, he was out of here- and screw Dumbledore and his bloody opinions!_

"Exactly that, boy. You will leave us the day before she comes – go live with your freak friends or something, I don't care."

Harry nodded, brainstorming the ways he could milk this situation for all it's worth. After a moment, Harry had an idea. He carefully began:

"Uncle, unfortunately my friends' house is full as it is – they have guests from Egypt," he couldn't just let them know about Weasleys' absence and waste a valuable blackmail tool, now could he? "But I know of a place that will suit me just fine. For visiting, I will need your written permission to go there."

Vernon glared at him in suspicion.

"Why do you need it?"

"The place is a village near my school, populated exclusively by my kind. Students up from the third year are allowed there with the permission from their guardians."

Uncle Vernon nodded absently, scratched his back and grunted.

"Alright. Fine, I'll sign it."

Harry nodded politely and went back to his room. Only when he closed the door behind him did he allow his lips to curve into a wicked smile.

_Ah, Sorting Hat. Slytherin, you say?_

**A Week Later, Durzkaban**

Harry gathered his things and smiled, mentally chanting:_I'm gonna leave the Dursleys! I'm gonna leave the Dursleys! Yay! Catchy, isn't it? Of course it is!_W_ith a bright grin on his face, he_ turned to Hedwig, who had just returned from her hunt.

"You ready to leave?"

She hooted and bobbed her head up and down. The boy laughed and fondly petted her. She preened under the affection.

"Who's my girl?" he cooed. "Who's the smartest and prettiest owl in the whole world?" Hedwig rolled her eyes at her master's antics and gently nipped his finger. He stood up from the desk and stretched his back. It seemed to him in that moment that nothing could spoil his good spirits. Of course, Fate decided to ever so gently remind him not to tempt her even in his thoughts.

As Harry descended down to the first floor, his trunk in right hand, Hedwig's cage in the left, he heard a truly unholy sound.

Ripper's bark.

Ripper was Marge's dog, and unfortunately the bulldog shared its owner's rather unpleasant personality. More than once during the times of Harry's crappy childhood he needed a tree sanctuary from the bulldog's jaws.

If Ripper was there, it meant that Marge was in the vicinity as well. She was expected the next day, but that was probably the exact reason she came today. She was just obnoxious like that.

The boy crept – very, very quietly – to the doors to the kitchen and listened. Ripper's barks clearly were echoed from the kitchen, as well as Aunt Petunia's high-pitched voice, periodically interrupted by the lower, but just as annoying barking of Aunt Marge. Ripper was undoubtedly the most likely subject of their argument. Harry smiled and, after verifying that the outside was clear of hostiles, made to leave the house.

Suddenly, Ripper's barks turned high-pitched. Harry froze for a moment. The barks were so much closer than before. He stopped and cursed mentally. _The thrice-damned dog smelled me!_

"What is it, Rippie?" Marge's voice came through the door. Harry shook himself out of his stupor and opened the front door - fully intending to make a break for it.

"Boy!"

_So much for an unnoticeable escape!_ He sighed and turned to the side, glaring at the large woman's posterior with undisguised contempt.

"Yes, Aunt Marge?"

"Where are you going?" she demanded, pulling back Ripper, who was nearly frothing at the sight of its favourite chew toy. Suddenly, Harry felt an undeniable impulse to push her buttons. Already on-edge from the sudden appearance of the miserable excuse for a human being that was Marge, he obeyed this urge without a second's thought.

"Somewhere else. There's a village near the _elite_ school I attend," he emphasized the word 'elite'. She blinked, looking suddenly bewildered.

"St. Brutus?"

"No, the one my parent's enrolled me in," he said with a snort.

"Your parents were useless drunks, layabouts and vagabonds! They wouldn't have the money to pay for a good institution, if any at all!" she snarled. Harry noticed Aunt Petunia's pale face behind her and gave a mocking laugh.

"Hah! My mother was a brilliant student that could have any job she wanted, and my father was **rich**! In my trust fund I have more money than you will ever see in your life! And the Family Vault…" he smirked. "Well. Picture Aladdin's cave," he leant forwards, his eyes gleaming. "Then quadruple it," Harry's grin was positively feral as he sniffed the air theatrically, channelling his inner Malfoy. "Now, I must be off. The stench of jealousy in here is positively choking me."

He was turning to the door when Ripper finally escaped Marge's hands, which were shaking in fury. The little hell-spawn of a mutt immediately ran towards him, barking like mad and with spit flying everywhere in the vicinity. Then it jumped– surprisingly high considering its short legs.

Harry didn't think. He just reacted.

A single spinning kick was all it took.

The damn dog flew away from him with a high-pitched whine that was almost covered by the shrieks both women produced. The shrieks, in their turn, were interrupted by a loud crash which was made by Ripper torpedoing one of Aunt Petunia's most prised vases. Of course, it was just as ugly as it was expensive. Wincing at the renewed screeches, he shrugged and with a muttered "Always wanted to do that," left the house, closing the door with a loud bang.

He strolled down the street, heading to the park, where he could safely summon the Knight Bus without anyone noticing. Ron mentioned that it was a rather safe and cheap mode of transportation when he asked about a way to get to the Leaky Cauldron. Of course, Harry could go to London as a Muggle or use the Floo in the local post office, but he didn't want to sit in a Muggle bus with a trunk, and he hated Floo with a passion despite only using it twice, so the Knight Bus it was.

Unfortunately, there was a company of seven kids a couple of years older than him hanging around, so he had to find another place to summon the Bus. On the other hand, he didn't particularly felt like walking, so he just sat on the nearby swings, gazing at nothing in particular heavy in thought.

It was already past twelve when the teens that were in the park earlier had left. He stood up and stretched, picking up his trunk and determinately walking to the road. Upon reaching the road and concluding that no one was in sight Harry held out his wand arm and immediately jumped away when a purple monstrosity masquerading as a bus appeared right in front of him with a nasty screeching of brakes. He calmed his rapid breathing- carefully taking his hand away from his heart and lifted his trunk, which he'd dropped in his fright. He stepped towards the open door.

_Hopefully, this will be better than the Floo, __h_e thought.

**10 minutes later**

"'Safe mode of transportation', my arse! I'll pick Floo over the Fright Bus any day!" Harry groaned. He was standing near the Leaky Cauldron on wobbly feet. He felt the bruise forming on his brow – a result of Ernie-the-Blind-Speed-Freak's driving was a radical disagreement between the seat in front of Harry and his head.

Once his capability to know his left from his right and up from down was restored, Harry entered the dingy pub. It was nearly empty – besides Tom, the toothless and bald owner, a couple of shady figures in the background and three witches quietly conversing on the table by the wall, there was no one there. The boy walked to Tom, who was almost reverently polishing an antique-looking glass.

"Do you have a spare room?"

"Of course – an attic room is empty right now, if you want it?" Tom answered in a monotone without so much as looking up.

"I'll take it. How much until the end of the summer?" Harry asked, taking his moneybag from the trunk.

"Until the end of the summer, you say?" Tom finally looked up and couldn't help but double take at the sight of his scar. Harry held himself from rolling his eyes and waited for an answer.

"Huh… from you, my boy, it will be five galleons– daily breakfast included," Tom replied after a pause. The boy slightly lifted his eyebrow, but didn't ask._He probably will get a free advertisement out of it._

"Very well. Here you go; five galleons. Now, where to?"

Tom took the coins and walked to the staircase, gesturing for Harry to follow. The room that was showed to him was obviously old– the furniture looked positively ancient – but it was in relatively good condition, and Harry honestly thought old-fashioned rooms to be cosier, although maybe it was just his love for Hogwarts talking. Tom left after telling to call him if anything else was needed, and Harry proceeded to make himself comfortable.

Later in the day, he wandered down to Diagon Alley, deciding that a visit to Gringotts was in order before going to the shops.

After withdrawing a moderate amount of money he asked the goblin accompanying him, Sharpshard, about an accounting of his belongings. As much as he enjoyed telling Marge about his so-called Aladdin's cave, he honestly had no idea what he had in his accounts. The goblin shrugged indifferently and told him to ask a teller, which he did. Upon hearing this request the teller stared at him for a moment and inquired:

"Did you not get your monthly financial statement?"

Then it was Harry's turn to stare. "I'm supposed to be receiving financial statements?" he asked flatly.

The teller frowned – a scary sight. "Yes, all the owners of a Gringotts' vault receive monthly updates on the status of their holdings. If you did not receive our owls, then something is truly amiss."

"Indeed," Harry frowned as well. Not as scary as a goblin frown, mind you, but it wasn't intended to be. The teller – the plaque on his table read 'Hookslash' – drummed on the desk with his claws and stood up.

"Mister Potter, I will make the needed inquires. If you would return here tomorrow, I will have the answer to this mystery. Gringotts prides itself on the fairness to all of its customers and I will see that this pride will not be revealed as a delusion."

Harry nodded and after wishing the teller a good day (at which he scowled and didn't answer – strange, that) and left the bank.

He wandered down the Alley, not knowing for sure what to do. One thing was certain – the Alley was a place filled to the brim with magic, and he could and probably would spend all the remaining five-plus-change weeks exploring it (and the numerous side alleys) and not even make a dent! So after a moment of consideration and glancing around in childish wonder of the "where shall I go first?" sort, Harry decided to randomly choose three to four shops a day and search for anything interesting inside. He grinned widely and looked at "Chutter's Charmed Chests".

Life was definitely interesting.

**The next day, Gringotts**

"Mister Potter. I have good news, bad news and news that may be either good or bad," Hookslash announced as he dropped a large pile of documents on his desk with a loud "thud". Harry scratched his head and sighed.

"Start with the bad."

The Goblin grinned. If his frown was scary, his grin was downright terrifying. Harry briefly wondered if goblin teeth are naturally shark-like or if they actually sharpened them to that razor sharp point.

"Bad news it is. Though the Potter family vaults are as filled with gold, jewels and other assorted heirlooms as they were before, the lands and other properties that once were owned by your family have either been sold or, as is the case with the Potter family manor, in a state of extreme disrepair."

The boy did a double-take. He, of course, has already deduced that his family was fairly well off, judging by the amount in his trust vault (the fact that he even had a 'trust vault' was a rather big clue in itself), but a manor? Lands?

"Pardon me," he said slowly, rubbing his forehead. "You said... lands?"

The goblin grimaced. "They were mostly sold in the time of war – our records indicate that the money raised was redirected to the Dumbledore vault. My guess would be that they were used to fund the war - particularly the Order of the Phoenix." Answering the unspoken query, he clarified: "The Order was the Dumbledore's vigilante group. Supposedly it was strictly need-to-know. Naturally, everyone knew."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind working furiously as he comprehended the information.

"And the good news?"

Hookslash nodded at the stack of paper he had brought.

"The investments your parents and grandparents dabbled in have paid off nicely. In the past decade your liquid assets have grown nearly by thirty percent."

Harry smiled slightly.

"Actually, you don't have to take my word for it– here is your financial statements. And that leads me to the next piece of news."

The boy took the offered document and looked at it. _Well knock me over with a feather! That is a lot of gold._ He shook his head, silently blessing his ancestors for the gift they have given him. A cough distracted him from his musings and he glanced at Hookslash a bit bashfully.

"The explanation for the glaring absence of any correspondence from Gringotts you have reported has a very simple, and obvious in hindsight, explanation," the goblin paused while Harry gave him his best "come on and tell me" glare. "Your magical guardian requested that your financial statements are to be redirected to him until you either are of age or have requested it yourself."

"My… guardian? I have a guardian?" He frowned. _Just who in the name of Merlin could be responsible for me and leave me in the hands of the Dursleys? Wait a minute._

"Albus Dumbledore," Hookslash muttered in a rather irritated tone, confirming his guess. Harry sighed and leaned back in the chair. After a moment of silence he asked:

"What, exactly, is a 'magical guardian'?"

The goblin observed him with a bored expression. Well, at least he wasn't grinning. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

"When a Muggle-raised child enters the magical world, a guardian is assigned to him or her. Usually, it is the headmaster of their school, though that is not a universal rule. The magical guardian has all the responsibilities and privileges as the Muggle one, although they are valid only when it comes to the magical world."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"So he asked the mail to be redirected… probably for the best," the boy conceded, imagining Uncle Vernon's face if he learned that his freak of a nephew had a crap-load of gold. He probably would have tried to take it. Oh, wait... Harry had told them about it just that morning. Though to take advantage of it, Vernon would have to go to the Freakishness Central, which was unlikely to happen. "What happens now?"

"Now, if you give your permission, we will proceed to send the statements to you directly," Hookslash scrawled a note on a parchment near him.

"Granted. May I ask who else aside of me can withdraw money from my vaults?"

"Albus Dumbledore and whoever you give your key to," was the answer. The boy goggled at that.

"Wait, what? So basically if you have someone's key you can waltz into this bank and grab all the gold from that particular vault?"

"Yes and no. For most of the accounts it is true, however, some of the older families pay some additional fees for extra security,"_okay, colour me interested__._ He thought._It would be ridiculously easy to steal the key from me and then..._

Choosing to drop the subject just for now, Harry lifted the parchment he was given.

"Now, judging by this, I have a lot of gold. What are my options for increasing this amount further?" he asked. The Goblin's eyes started to almost sparkle with greed and his grin looked positively predatory.

"Well, you can invest, of course."

Two hours later, Harry left Gringotts nursing the king of all migraines. The amount of economical technobabble he was subjected to was staggering. In truth he wanted nothing more right now than lie down and sleep. But before that he needed something. He had the weight of a giant fortune dropped on him and somehow he was supposed to make it grow.

"I need to read a freaking manual," he groused.

So instead of going to his cosy room in the Leaky Cauldron and shutting down for an unspecified length of time, the twelve-year-old went to Flourish and Blott's. Spotting a bored girl at the till he immediately put her to task to find any and all books on the subject of the wizarding economy.

She wasn't very amused to say the least. Until she spotted the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, that is. After that, she pretty much ransacked the whole shop trying to appease him. The result of her fervour was a rather scary pile of tomes. After discarding the half that wasn't relevant or up-to-date he was left with tree books. "Wizarding Economy, 1987 edition", a leather-bound book "Aurum potestas est" ("Gold is power" in Latin) the author of which had the misfortune of being named Artemis, though clearly was a guy, and "To Sell or Not To Sell" which was, ironically enough, written in rather archaic English despite being written in 1958. It was unnecessary to say that the browsing of these books didn't help his headache at all.

So when Harry finally entered his room, he barely made it to the bed, dropping the bag with the books on the way from the door to his destination. The bone-tired teen fell onto the bed and groaned partly from the migraine, partly from the sweet feeling that only comes to you when you meet your bed after a truly exhausting day. In ten seconds Harry was snoozing and watching dreams about shark-teethed books and Ripper wearing ridiculous robes and half-moon glasses.

The next five days could only be described by one word: learning. Harry read and read and memorized until he could no longer understand what the hell he was staring at. Then he would take a break, go visit some shops, annoy their owners with unrelenting torrent of questions about some or other item on the display, and then go back to learning. By the end of these five days, when he had finally read and understood all the books he'd bought he was a proud wearer of two delightful rings under his eyes that were a truly amazing sky-blue colour. But for him, it was worth it.

When Harry visited Gringotts again, he could understand most of what Hookslash was telling him and rarely became lost in the middle of a description of some thing or another. In the end they reached an agreement. As Harry had didn't have an agent before, obviously, Hookslash recommended another goblin named Tearshape. _Sometimes I wonder about goblin names, _Harry thought wryly. Unfortunately the gold in Potter family vault by the law wasn't available to him until he was fourteen, so for now he had to make do with the contents of his trust vault, which while sizeable, was a rather limited part of his inheritance. So the only thing he could do for another year was twiddle his thumbs and make plans for future investments. Immediately after leaving Gringotts that day the boy bought a subscription to "Magical Markets", the weekly wizarding financial magazine.

After that, he decided that the question of money-making has taken enough time from this summer and went to his room to write a few letters to coordinate a Diagon Alley date with Ron and Hermione. However, before he reached his room he noticed a most unexpected visitor standing right in front of his door.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said, feeling uncomfortably close to flabbergasted. The only times he'd seen the esteemed Headmaster was in the Great Hall, in his office or – once – in the Hospital wing. To see him in the Leaky Cauldron was… a bit surreal. Subconsciously Harry thought Dumbledore never left the castle, although of course he knew it to be false. The twinkling in the Headmaster's eyes clearly showed that he was enjoying Harry's surprise. As unbalanced as the boy was with the sudden appearance of the old warlock, he found himself blurting out:

"How you make your eyes twinkle like that?"

He cringed immediately at the sheer stupidity of what he said and quietly added "sir". Fortunately, it seemed that Dumbledore was very much amused by this.

"Ah, young Harry, all men tend to become rather eccentric with age…"

Glancing at the professor's robes, the boy briefly wondered if they lose any kind of taste in clothes as well – today they were brightly pink with green stripes here and there.

"… and wizards even more so. Many people wish to have a signature – something that distinguishes them from others. But sometimes a signature is supplied naturally by a person's magic. Your untamed hair, for example – exactly like your father's – is your signature supplied by your magic. The twinkling of my eyes is created by my magic reacting to my mood."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"Hermione's hair is like that too – the more stressed she is, the bushier it becomes," he responded thoughtfully.

"Precisely."

"I wonder if Snape's billowing cloak can be explained like that…" he trailed off._Maybe he doesn't want to look like a bat, but his magic makes him similar to it nevertheless? A truly amusing thought, that, I will certainly write about in my letter to Ron._He grinned cheekily at the very thought of Ron's undoubtedly humorous reply.

"Professor Snape, Harry. And I've never thought about that. I will have to ask him." Dumbledore grinned boyishly, knocking years off his expression as he did.

Harry shook off his thoughts and stared at the older man. "Why are you here, sir?"

The jovial expression on the Headmaster's face dimmed a bit. "Ah, that would be a bit of a long talk, my boy. May I come in?"

He nodded – a bit guiltily, – and fumbled in his pockets for the key. After finding it, he opened the door and entered the room. Professor Dumbledore conjured a rather large overstuffed chair and sat in it. Harry watched - rather mystified by the whole show.

"So what do you need to talk to me about, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed and took off his spectacles. "Tell me Harry, have you heard of Sirius Black?"

Harry nodded. How could he not? Every Daily Prophet since he got there had the deranged man's photo on the front page, and his escape was all that everybody in the Alley talked about.

"We have suspicions that he will try to come after you, Harry."

The boy frowned and his brain engaged at 100%."What's his motive, sir?"

Dumbledore cleaned his glasses and put them back on. "You defeated his master. According to the intelligence we have received, you are Black's main target."

Harry leant back a bit. The man spent more than a decade in Azkaban – and from what Hagrid had told him about the place, it was almost a guarantee that Black was mad.

"Who is he, actually?"

Dumbledore's face became grave. "Sirius Black was a student at the same time as your parents. You must understand Harry, that the times were dark, we knew not who to trust - family members became our greatest enemies and our greatest enemies became our greatest allies," he sighed. "Sirius was – is - one of my greatest failings as a Headmaster. The people that served Voldemort - people like young Sirius - my students - I failed them. Just as I failed young Tom Riddle."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Sir," he muttered. "You are evading the question."

The old Headmaster shifted in his seat.

"Professor, you know me," Harry pleaded. "I will find out the answers sooner or later. Why not give me the information now?"

The Professor looked at Harry in his trademark Dumble-Look – benevolent, twinkling, yet piercing to the soul. After a couple of seconds of scrutiny he must have found what he was looking for. In a slow and serious tone he told the boy everything. Harry listened with rapt attention, memorizing and analysing the information. When Dumbledore finally stopped, Harry abruptly stood up and began to pace.

"So, basically, I have a maniac on my tail who didn't hesitate to sell his best friends to Voldemort, spent twelve years in a mind-shattering prison and now obviously the only goal in his mind is to make me suffer for something that was most likely my mother's doing," Harry stopped pacing. "What do you think I should do, sir?"

The Headmaster coughed delicately. "I'm sorry Harry but you can't stay here. Unfortunately, the Weasleys haven't yet returned from Egypt, so the Burrow is out of question. Hogwarts, unfortunately, is not currently habitable – we are resetting the wards, and even the house-elves are out of the castle for at least the next week. So for the duration of this stalemate we have only a few options."

He paused, obviously waiting for the boy to ask the obvious question. Harry idly thought that old men obviously developed a taste for drama as well. "And they are, sir?"

"The first option is for you to live with a member of faculty."

Harry briefly wondered how it would be to live with Professor McGonagall. The mental picture was... weird. Then to his mind came Snape (the cloak slowly moving a-la wings) and he visibly shuddered.

"The second option would be for you to live with people who I personally trust, but are completely unfamiliar to you," Dumbledore said. Harry raised his eyebrow. _He didn't even mention going back to Dursleys. Odd, but welcome._

"What would be your recommendation, sir?"

"Professor McGonagall would be ideal. She volunteered along with professors Sprout and Flitwick, but Filius is occupied with the wards and Pomona doesn't know you very well."

The teen nodded, resigned.

"Very well, sir. Hopefully, it will not be as weird as I think it will be."

The Headmaster chuckled. "Your father James was her favourite student and young Lily was not far behind. I believe that you will find the experience not nearly as awkward as you fear."

"I hope so, sir."

An hour spent buying the school supplies (Professor Dumbledore, of course, insisted that it had to be done now, so that Harry wouldn't have to make a target of himself later) the boy was side-along Apparated to Professor McGonagall's house nearby Aberdeen.

The moment he had firm earth under his feet again he wobbled and bent over, trembling and shivering. The only reason he didn't throw up was that his throat was clenched too much for it to be possible. The professor lightly patted his shoulder. Harry silently promised himself that he'd create a far smoother and gentler travelling method than those he'd experienced so far. Currently, it seemed to him that all of the modern magical transportation was invented by a brilliant, but slightly sadistic guy with an extremely weak vestibular apparatus, who wished to make all the wizardkind suffer as he did.

"The First Apparition is always the hardest, and Side-Along Apparition is twice as bad, especially for the underage," Dumbledore said comfortingly. "It gets better with time."

Harry shuddered again, inhaled and exhaled, trying hard to keep his intestines from leaving him through mouth. "That was the most god-awful sensation I have ever felt, barring outright injuries, though I think I would prefer anything short of broken bones to Apparition. It's official, they ratified it in Parliament – I hate magical transport."

Dumbledore chuckled as Harry came around. He gestured for the young teen to follow him. The boy obeyed, dragging his school trunk behind him. After a short walk they stopped before a yellow fence that shimmered and vanished as they approached it, revealing the house behind it.

It was… neat. With three floors, a little tower, and a well-kept garden it gave the overall impression of being very homely. A window on the second floor was lit.

Professor Dumbledore almost glided to the door and knocked twice. After a minute, the door swung open, revealing Minerva McGonagall.

"Albus, Mr. Potter," she smiled. "Good evening"

"Evening, Professor," Harry returned with a slightly uneasy grin.

"Hello, Minerva. I've filled Harry in on current situation and he agreed to live here until the start of the school year."

Harry's Head of House nodded and beckoned him inside.

The house was just as cosy on the inside as it seemed to be on the outside. Harry would never associate that word with anything connected to McGonagall, but admittedly he didn't know her that well. He didn't know her at all, really.

After a short talk with the Headmaster, McGonagall closed the door and turned to the raven-haired youth.

"Well, first things first – let me show you the room you will be occupying."

He nodded and followed her. She showed him to a nice room with brown furniture and walls that were painted green – a combination that Harry found quite relaxing. After depositing his things he turned to her, glancing for a moment at a bunch of nearly translucent bubbles on a nearby table that signified a Notice-Me-Not charm**.**

"So, professor, how is it going to work?"

She pressed her lips into a tight line.

"The schedule will be similar to Hogwarts – breakfast at eight o'clock, lunch at one o'clock and dinner at seven. You are free to do anything within reason – my library is at your disposal, just don't eat while reading."

Harry grimaced. He did that very rarely – Madam Pince was extremely fierce to those poor souls who ate while reading, so he could indulge in that habit only on those times when he both a) persuaded Hermione to share a book or b) had a snack saved from dinner. It didn't happen very often, mostly because of the difficulty of pulling off the option a).

Seeing the grimace McGonagall smiled slightly in her tight-lipped fashion and added:

"Also, seeing as I've got nearly all my paperwork for the coming school year done, I believe that your Transfiguration needs some work. Your father was a natural, and your mother was extraordinary as well, and I believe that with a right push you will be able to surpass them."

_Well damn. More work. Ah, well, I don't have anything to do anyway. At the very least there won't be any blasted essays…_

_I hope._

The idea to take Harry in for the rest of the holidays came to Minerva during one of the regular Head of House meetings, when Albus, with a heavy sigh, let it slip that young Potter was in need of a sanctuary to live in due to him leaving the Dursleys' house while Black was on the loose. This statement caused quite predictable reactions – Severus sneered and said something derogatory about childish temper tantrums (quite hypocritical of him, she noted silently), Filius grew pensive, Pomona started worrying and she had looked at Albus questioningly. He never just said something. Albus always had a reason. Pomona immediately volunteered to take Harry in until school started – the thought of any student not having a home caused her Hufflepuff roots to flair in agitation.

To Minerva's great surprise, Filius followed suit. Before she knew it she had volunteered as well, pointing out that Harry was one of her lions and therefore it was her business to care for him. After all James and the elder Potters' were the closest things she had to family after her fiancée died during the Grindelwald war, despite the trouble Charlus had after the war finished. She glanced at Albus and barely withheld a groan – judging by his twinkling eyes, it was exactly what he wanted. Predicting Pomona's reaction couldn't be hard, and it was a matter of moments before McGonagall's territorial instincts engaged. The Animagus transformation tended to bring the animal instincts a bit closer to the surface – such was the price of being able to transform into an animal at will.

"Albus, you need to abandon your manipulative tendencies," she said evenly. The damn twinkle went full force.

"Manipulative tendencies?" the man said in a superb imitation of an outraged tone that did not fool Minerva one bit, "Nonsense, my dear!"

And so it was that Minerva waited for Albus to bring Harry to her house. Honestly speaking, it didn't seem to her to be a bad idea – she never was particularly close to him, despite her deep friendship with his parents, bless their souls. He seemed to respect her and kept his distance, and she did nothing to change the status quo.

Minerva was brought out from her reverie by the double knock that Albus always used. She hurriedly bustled to the door, and after a second of composing herself, she opened it. Albus stood there on the front step, in the newest of his eye-watering robes, every bit a benevolent, quirky mentor. Harry stood on his left, unconsciously fiddling with his trunk's handle, visibly uncomfortable.

"Albus, Mr. Potter," she said with a smile. "Good evening."

Harry gave a slight smile – more Lily than James, – and greeted her as well.

"Hello, Minerva. I've filled Harry in on current situation and he agreed to live here until the start of the school year."

She nodded and gestured Harry to come inside. After he vanished from view, she asked Albus:

"Where was he until now?"

He gave a hearty chuckle. "The Leaky Cauldron – he rented a room. It seems that he is much smarter than I realized."

She nodded. "It is a shame that he never truly applies himself – he could be such a prodigy."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was with mischievous look in his eyes. "Perhaps it would be prudent to show him that he has such a potential and through this give him the motivation he needs."

This time she didn't withhold her groan. "Albus, do you know just how much work I have? I physically don't have the time for tutoring!"

Albus just waved his hand. "Most of your 'work' is mine to do anyway. You simply took to doing it so that I have more time for Wizengamot and ICW. However, this summer there aren't any pressing matters that require my attention. Harry, however, is critical. His escapade in the Chamber and its aftermath tell me that this tutoring may bear fruit. He did choose Arithmancy, Care and Ancient Runes, after all. That means either Miss Granger pressed him to it or he decided to do so himself, and something tells me that it's more of the latter. The boy is quite stubborn and wouldn't budge if he truly chose something else."

She sighed, knowing that she had no choice in the matter. On the other hand, she wouldn't call tutoring the son of James and Lily (a smart boy all-in-all) a terrible chore. "Very well, Albus. I'll try."

"I ask for nothing more. Goodnight, Minerva."

"Same to you, Albus."

She closed the door and gathered her thoughts. Minerva shook her head and headed to the living room, where Harry stood, looking around with a rather puzzled expression on his face.

"Well, first things first – let me show you the room you will be occupying."

He nodded and followed her to the guest room on the second floor. The last time it was occupied was three days before, when an old friend of Minerva's, Emily Brightsight, stayed over for a couple of days. She was a genius potion maker and an adept spell creator. Both of them shared the dorm room back in their Hogwarts years and still were in constant contact. Entering the room, Minerva noticed a half-empty bottle of scotch left on the table from the last evening of Emily's visit and quickly threw a Notice-Me-Not charm on it. Fortunately, Harry didn't notice this manoeuvre and walked into the room right after she sheathed her wand. He looked around appreciatively and put his trunk near the bed. After that he turned to his Professor and asked:

"So, Professor, how is it going to work?"

She paused in thought and after deciding to stick with the familiar regime answered, "Our schedule will be similar to Hogwarts – breakfast at eight o'clock, lunch at one o'clock and dinner at seven. You are free to do anything within reason – my library is at your disposal, just don't eat while reading."

He grimaced and she couldn't help but smile slightly. That habit was always the unmistakable mark of any person who loves books. It seemed that Harry did, in fact, love reading. Well, time to drop the bombshell.

"Also, seeing as I've got nearly all my work for the coming school year done, I believe that your Transfiguration needs some work. Your father was a natural, and your mother was extraordinary as well, and I hope that with a right push you will be able to surpass them."

Another wince, but overall he seemed willing to learn. Minerva was beginning to look forward to this particular venture.

**The next day**

The next morning McGonagall received the first shock from living with Harry Potter. At 7.45 she walked down the stairs and heard the sounds of two people arguing. As she reached the first floor, she realized that the voices came from the kitchen. The only two people in the house besides her were Harry and Floppy – the house elf. _What could they be arguing about?_ The elderly professor crept to the door (smiling slightly at the irony of her sneaking up at the son of a Marauder) and listened.

"Floppy has been serving Miss Minnie for ten years now, and young Harry Potter shouldn't put his nose where it isn't needed!"

Minerva was shocked– she'd never heard Floppy speaking with such anger.

"I'm sorry, did I touch a nerve?" she heard Harry reply in a sarcastic tone. "I won't trust any elf to prepare food for me, and that's final!"

"The kitchen is mine, young Harry Potter! You should sit down and allow me to cook for you!"

"Not bloody likely!" he spat.

_What happened to Harry that made him distrust the elves? The house-elves were gentle and polite creatures that wouldn't – couldn't – harm a fly!_After putting on her best "stern teacher" façade, she entered the room. Harry stood near the table, his arms crossed and his face determined. He was glaring at the small figure of Floppy. Floppy, on the other hand, stood near the sink, her small hands on her hips, was glaring at him with just as much vehemence. Hearing the door open, they both stared at Minerva.

"What is happening here?"

They returned to glaring at each other.

"Mr. Potter! Explain yourself!"

Visibly tensing, he answered. "Due to some recent misadventures of mine I'm currently unable to trust the elves and I wanted to cook my breakfast myself. Your elf here disagreed."

"Young Harry Potter has no business going into the kitchen! It's Floppy's job!" the little elf protested.

The professor counted to ten and said:

"Floppy, if Mr. Potter wants to, he can cook for himself. Mr. Potter, for your information, the food in Hogwarts is prepared by house elves..."

"WHAT?"

"Mind your tone, Mr. Potter!" she said sharply. He winced and answered in an apologetic tone.

"I'm sorry, it's just a shock."

Minerva gazed at him thoughtfully. "What makes you so distrustful of the elves?"

He laughed sarcastically, reminding her of Snape, of all people. "You can't trust the elves, professor. Every bloody elf I've met so far and was borderline insane!" He didn't bother to mention that it was only one elf. Dobby was unhinged enough to make him suspect the whole race, and the elf before him didn't alleviate his suspicions in the slightest. "They can and will cause you any kind of trouble if they believe it to be in your best interest – even if it benefits you in a very roundabout way. Example from the top of my head: if Floppy here thought that you are working too hard and need to stay at home for a while, she could very well slip a diarrhoea inducing potion or whatever she'd think of in your tea and have no qualms about doing it whatsoever."

She glanced at Floppy for a second. _He… has a point. A well thought out, logical point, even though it is rather paranoid of him._

"I wouldn't! I wouldn't do it, Missy!" Floppy cried in distress.

She sighed mentally. Outwardly, she came to a decision. "Enough of this nonsense. Mr. Potter, you may cook for yourself, but don't argue with Floppy and stop this attitude. Floppy, you will let Mr. Potter do as he wishes."

Floppy peeped at her sadly and turned to continue cooking. Harry, however, stood unmoving with a disturbed face.

"Mr. Potter?"

He blinked at her and then coughed awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I kind of was over the line there. Don't know what came over me," he rubbed his hair sheepishly. "I did have a bad experience with a house elf, but I should not have blamed the faults of one on his entire species. I… I'm sorry, Floppy."

Floppy blinked at him, and after understanding his sincerity, grinned at him. "Young Harry Potter does not need to say sorry. Floppy is not sad about this."

"Nevertheless, I'm sorry… And no, it doesn't mean that I won't cook for myself," he added after a moment of thought. Floppy's ears, perked up after Harry's apology, sagged again.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat at the table, eating a classic British breakfast– and Harry's creation looked as good as Floppy's to the latter's surprise and silent disappointment. Five minutes were spent silently eating. After they both ate their fill, Floppy took the dishes (Harry shot her a suspicious look as she did), and McGonagall beckoned Harry to follow her outside for the first lesson – she really didn't want to clean the room when some transformation or other went wrong. And she knew for certain it would. Once they were outside, she turned to him and smiled. For some reason, he squirmed.

"So far, you have shown yourself to be lazy, and unwilling to put any effort but the bare minimum in as a student," she said briskly, smirking at Harry's resigned expression. "However your choices for new courses prove that you aren't nearly as lazy as I thought. So now, per Headmaster's decision and permission, I will tutor you so you will satisfy my expectations – and they are high indeed. Both your father and your mother, Mr. Potter, were absolute prodigies when it came to the art of Transfiguration. I'm sure, that given time, James could have been as good as Professor Dumbledore. I would expect that you will be even better than your father."

At this moment, something flashed in Harry's eyes and he nodded with a look of determination. Minerva thought then that maybe – just maybe – he'd deliver.

Time would tell.

"Professor, what about the Trace? Won't I get in trouble for casting magic outside of Hogwarts?"

Carefully keeping her face blank, she answered:

"No, Mr. Potter, I have already cleared in out with the Ministry. During our lessons, you are exempt from the restriction."

Judging by Harry's face, he bought it. As the Head Deputy, Minerva did have a lot of practice of feeding bullshit to the Board of Governors, so misleading a student occasionally wasn't difficult.

The promised lessons turned out to be a godsend for the young man. Harry had always had trouble with Transfiguration, completing his school work only with Hermione's help. His best subjects were Defence and Charms – being relatively easy for him to learn as they were. Point the wand, say the words, apply some power, and presto.

When it came to Transfiguration, however, he always had some kind of block to it. After two years of having to work hard just to achieve some mediocre results, he had already resigned himself to never reaching any noticeable progress on the subject.

But now, everything had changed.

On the first day of lessons, when the professor asked him to transfigure a bug into a pot he got it right at his fourth attempt, and it had something translucent on its sides that resembled wings.

Professor McGonagall hummed thoughtfully as she looked at the results of his transfiguration. "Now, Mr. Potter, tell me, what did you just do," McGonagall's eyes were rather dispassionate, which, coupled with her strict demeanour, made for a rather intimidating sight.

"I... said the incantation while visualising the bug into changing," Harry answered.

"'Visualising the bug into changing'?" McGonagall was staring at him intently. Harry nodded. "Explain."

"W... well, at our first lesson you told us that visualisation was the key to any Transfiguration, and so..." he trailed off.

"No, explain how you visualise," the professor prompted.

"Well, I **will **the bug to transform, to change its size, material and form."

"Wait. Do you mean that you just mentally tell the insect to obey and change its shape?"

"Uhm, yes. Was I not supposed to?"

The professor stared at him for a moment, and then groaned quietly.

"And I was wondering where James' talent went to," she muttered. "No, Mr. Potter, that is not what 'visualisation' means."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Why hasn't Miss Granger corrected you?"

"She told me I was doing everything right when I told her I was visualising. She was quite befuddled," Harry said, his brow slightly creased as he remembered Hermione's expression.

"Ah, never you mind. Now, what I really meant was that you have to imagine the process of Transfiguration, view in your mind the changes that the object undergoes with as much detail as possible."

Harry listened to this explanation with a frown, and then glanced at the disfigured pot, already reverting to its original form.

"The problem that the majority of the students have is their lack of active imagination. Most people's minds are not suited for this, and they can visualise with only bare needed detail, having to compensate with the theoretical knowledge. However, there are some prodigies who have the gift to do it with astounding precision and speed. Dumbledore is one. Your father was one. Your mother came close, but she always preferred Charms."

Harry lifted his wand and, following the new advice, tried to **visualise.** He imagined the bug, deforming, losing its colour, growing in size, then freezing in the shape of a pot. He pronounced the incantation carefully, not allowing the image to flee.

The pot had bug legs.

Harry frowned severely and _Finite__-_d it, then tried again. This time, the pot was uniform grey, without any unneeded protrusions or limbs.

"Good. Now, seeing as you have got so far with a huge handicap, let us see what you will be able to do without," she _Accio-_d a large stack of books. "It's a long list..."

Harry gulped.

What followed was a three-hour-long marathon of Transfiguration, which was the most draining subject when it came to actual spell-casting. McGonagall was relentless, not letting up until he managed to perform every spell twice as fast as he could before. It was gruelling. By the end of the lesson, Harry was exhausted to the level when the slightest amount of magic caused his right arm to burn (not literally, thank Merlin) and he had a tremendous headache. But despite that, he was very, very satisfied with his performance – finally, the hardest subject he has ever had was much, much easier to him! McGonagall was as close to giddy as she could be (the boy was slightly flabbergasted at her behaviour) and after asking her elf to tend to Harry she left by Floo – no doubt, to brag about his sudden breakthrough. The young man found that he didn't care much.

The elf, though… he conceded his loss in the morning argument, but he still watched Floppy like a hawk.

_You can't trust the elves._

The next few weeks were as exciting to Harry as his first day being a guest in McGonagall's house – he cooked for himself, ignoring the low mutterings coming from Floppy, ate with his Head of House, learned from her for a couple of hours (by 'learned', I mean – practised Transfiguration of increasing complexity – on speed), ate lunch, read the tomes she assigned for him to read, ate dinner and went to sleep. The lessons featured more and more complicated pieces of transfiguration each day, but McGonagall drew the line at the organic-to-organic transformations and self-transfiguration. She said that he had learnt enough of advanced material, and that he should concentrate on the other branches of transfiguration so they would become second nature. As a compromise, she taught him the basics of Conjuration – granted, he couldn't do much, only something on a very small scale, as the power requirements of the art were rather high. He also found that Conjuration just couldn't be done without an incantation unless you were a Master of Dumbledore's calibre, which made sense, but nevertheless was kind of disappointing.

As time went by, McGonagall grew less formal towards him and by the end of the holidays she even called Harry by his first name a couple of times. Each time she would slightly grimace, as if silently berating herself for improper conduct. The boy would smile at her brightly and her grimace would vanish. He hoped that in time she would relax more with him in an informal setting despite her famous objectiveness that bordered on aloofness with her students. Her calling him by his name felt very weird, but it signified a better relationship between them, which was all kinds of useful. He briefly entertained a thought of having a teacher who would favour him. Before his mental eye appeared Draco Malfoy with a superior smirk on his face and a sneering Snape behind him. He shook his head and smiled sadly – even if McGonagall became his friend (which was a rather surreal mental picture despite how less standoffish she was with him now), she would never do a fifth of what Snape does. _Oh, well. An ally like the Deputy Headmistress is invaluable despite her morals._

_He was surprised most pleasantly when she organised a dinner for him on his birthday, though they were not visited by anyone else for some sort of security reasons. Harry disagreed with that, but still enjoyed the evening._

The last dinner on the 31st of August was spent in a rather high-spirited mood. Professor McGonagall explained to him the principle of unsustainable transformation – the reason behind Gamp's Laws – while gesticulating with her fork in the air. Harry knew that she was as passionate about her subject as she was about Quidditch – and boy she was a fan of the sport! And now that she forgot to be formal… Frankly, the situation would seem nearly impossible to him a month ago. Now, he simply listened to her with rapt attention while watching the moving fork just in case it wandered too close to his eye.

"…so the instability eventually disrupts the magic, morphing the object back with exponential speed. Because of that, if you, for example, conjured food and ate it, it would fade into nothingness while still in your body, which could cause some trouble to your digestive system. If, Merlin forbid, a wizard transfigured the food from something – a stone, for instance – the stone would be reassembled from the half-digested bits and revert to its original size." Minerva slashed the air with her fork for emphasis. Harry nodded, wincing at the imagined picture. _The law had to be founded on some actual experience. Poor sods._

"Water, however, can be conjured indefinitely by a couple of spells I'll teach you in your NEWT level classes. Usual charms like Aguamenti, Agua Erupto and even Aqua Fluctus conjure water for a time period that depends on the magical energy the caster uses to cast the spell. Aqua Inundantia, however, conjures water permanently, but obviously takes a lot of power to cast and sustain."

She paused for a couple of seconds, allowing him to swallow a couple of pieces of meat pie without him risking missing something vital in her explanation. With a slightly wistful expression she reminisced about one of the battles she'd witnessed during the war.

"I remember Albus fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and using this spell... You-Know-Who had created a giant Manticore from flames – which is particle Transfiguration, a ridiculously complicated branch – and Albus countered it with Agua Fluctus. That duel was a breath-taking sight– Albus transfiguring, conjuring, and animating like a man possessed, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named throwing around powerful direct spells – fire whips, chunks of flesh from Albus` constructs turned into projectiles, streams of Dark Magic. Everyone on that battlefield just stopped fighting and watched with amazement and awe. Yes…" she grew silent for a moment. "Despite his darkness, or in spite of his darkness – You-Know-Who was a powerful wizard, talented wizard. It is no wonder then that so many still fear to speak his name. I included."

He processed the information and changed the subject quickly. "How would one go about using Transfiguration in duel?"

"Oh, transfiguring objects around into predators, changing the surroundings to suit you, transfiguring material shields, conjuring weapons, using constructs – the latter two usually require animation charms, while the usage of the organic transformations is complimented by compulsions. There are great many ways to implement Transfiguration in a fight, and a true master of it is a fearsome opponent. The living examples are Albus and, to a lesser extent, me. Filius is also known for his love of transfiguring his surroundings."

He nodded slowly. McGonagall shook off her reverie and looked at him with a bit of worry in her eyes. "Harry? Why do you ask?"

She didn't even wince at her use of the first name. Harry mentally cheered, ignoring the weirdness of his normally strict teacher calling him by his first name.

"Last time I've checked, I have a homicidal psychopath after my head. Ah, correction, I have two. Voldemort counts as well, we shouldn't disregard him just because he lacks a body," he ignored her wince. "I have to learn how to defend myself. Chances are that Black won't be caught, and so he may very well visit me. I have to be ready," Harry glared at his plate. "I will be ready. I will survive."

**Very far away, in the wilderness on the continent**

The wraith was floating aimlessly through a clearing of two thousand-year-old oaks. It was plotting. It was waiting. It was surviving despite the constant unimaginable pain that comes from being less than a ghost. A snake – just a common variety, almost no poison and no magic - caught the wraith's attention. It positioned itself to lash out and take possession of the snake's body. Possession granted a brief respite from the agony.

Suddenly, just a moment before the wrath could take full possession of the snake's body, it felt an eerily familiar presence close by. A presence that could only be another part of him – a missing part…. If his instincts were right (and they were very rarely wrong) this could be what it had been waiting for.

The wraith stilled.

Waiting…

Watching…

The stinging sensation of the presence of another part of it caused the feeling of unease to increase as another wraith-like figure, this one far more pronounced, flew out of the bushes. Before the first shade could react, the second collided with it. A piercing scream filled the air as a silent explosion felled every small tree in a seven-meter radius. An eerie red glow set the forest alight for a few seconds before it changed, becoming silver. The light dimmed and vanished, showing the wraith for what it had become. It seemed far more focused and much more pronounced and solid than both of the parts that created it. It slowly turned North-West, where Scotland was, and rasped one word in an echoing voice:

"Interesting…"

**Author's note**

So, here is the first real chapter. If you wonder why the Dursleys and Dumbledore changed their plans, don't – I just thought that a summer with Aunt Marge and in Diagon Alley sounded boring to write, so I went and wrote something else. I first thought about sending Harry to Tonks – but figured it would be illogical with Sirius being a relative of theirs and the real chance of him making a visit to Cousin Andy.

About Harry's inheritance: Many fics depict Harry as a magical analogue of Billie Gates, only without the window-making company. I call that bullshit. Harry is rich, he has a mansion (admittedly, at this point it is nowhere near habitable), a title of Lord and a vote in Wizengamot. However he is far from the richest person around. That title goes to Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the pureblood families.

The elves – they and Harry's distrust to them in particular will be a running gag for a while. I thought of this while writing and it seemed like a nice enough idea.  
SleeperAwakes out.


	4. Something wicked this way comes

**Chapter updated: 30.09.14**

_"ALEX I HAVE NEWS!" Harry burst into the room with a loud shout, virtually bouncing with excitement. His mood, unfortunately, was not shared by a startled young man in front of an array of flasks with similar-looking reddish liquids boiling in them. One such flask, disturbed by the jump the man did, immediately spilled its contents into a nearby cauldron._

_**BOOM**_

_"Potter, how many times did I ask you not to interrupt me while I'm working?!"_

_"Too many to count," Harry lifted an eyebrow at the multi-coloured vapours rising from the vibrating cauldron. "What the hell was that?"_

_"Magical blood doesn't mix well with the standard herbal package, especially heated," Alex told him distractedly, waving his wand at the shattered glass._

_"Drop the herbs and use the mineral mix, then."_

* * *

**Chapter 4: Something Wicked This Way Comes**

* * *

Finally, the day came when Harry had to return to Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall side-along Apparated him and his things to the platform 9¾ an hour before the train left. Absently noting that the sensation of being dragged through a ridiculously tight tube got a bit more manageable, he turned to her.

"Professor, I thank you for your hospitality. This summer was the best of my whole life."

He didn't mention that it was a sure winner by default (the summer with the Weasleys didn't count, as the sheer crappiness of the stay with Dursleys before Ron, Fred and George got him out somewhat equalized the things that came after) – that would be awkward.

"It was my pleasure, Harry," she answered warmly, having abandoned the facade of the stern teacher seeing as they weren't in school. She wanted to say something, but Harry wasn't finished. _When a person feels that her work is appreciated, she is more likely to do so again,_he thought, deciding to lay it on thick.

"I can't thank you enough for your lessons. Without you I undoubtedly would never be that good in Transfiguration," _because I wouldn't be able to force myself to work so damn much if you weren't standing over my shoulder. _He added, silently.

McGonagall waved off his admittedly rather clumsy attempt at arse-kissing, but he could see that she was pleased.

"Nonsense, Harry – you are just as good as your father was at your age, if not better. You would have little difficulties on your own, when someone finally pointed out your mistake," she ruffled the boy's hair – a gesture that surprised him.

"See that your work in class is just as amazing as your work this summer, and I will, perhaps, think about continuing our lessons… maybe I'll even talk with Filius."

**That**was a surprise, though far from an unwelcome one. Per Harry's request McGonagall dedicated a few of their lessons to the combat use of Transfiguration. The things she could do left Harry speechless with amazement. From the sounds of it, James used Transfiguration in a fight as well. McGonagall told Harry that his father defeated a foreign mercenary of Voldemort once with a Switching spell by switching his left arm with his opponent's and knocking him out with a hay-maker.

The mention of getting Flitwick in on the lessons meant one thing: formal training in duelling. And that was something Harry was greatly looking forward to.

"Professor, I solemnly swear that this year I will be better than even Hermione," he said in a grave tone with his hand on his chest. McGonagall chuckled lightly.

"Do you know just how much like your father you looked just now?" she asked fondly. Then she quickly grew serious, and after a quick goodbye, Apparated away. Harry looked around the platform, which was now slowly filling up with people. He picked up his trunk and went to the last cabin as per his agreement with Ron and Hermione. After placing the trunk under the seat he lay down – he had had little sleep that night after finding "Pureblood genealogy of Ancient Families" in the library. For a couple of seconds after finding the book Harry was conflicted: a part of him was curious about anything to do with his family, another part was depicting him with a Malfoyish smirk talking about pureblood superiority. After a couple of moments, his curiosity forced the ridiculous mental picture out and he opened the book.

Imagine his surprise and disgust when he found out that Malfoy was his distant cousin. Double it for when he found out the same could be said about Snape. In shock and disgust he read about the cute little pureblood tradition of marrying one's relatives, all to keep the "filthy Mudbloods" out of the family. Harry knew, of course, that the Magical World held Muggleborns (not to mention Muggles) in contempt, but this certainly drove the point home.

Years later, when asked, he would name that night as the moment when he suspected for the first time that there was something deeply wrong with the Magical world.

Trying and failing to suppress a huge yawn Harry scribbled a note which he put on the door using a Sticking charm, after which, he lay down on the bench and went to sleep.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was walking through the train with Ron dragging his legs behind her and her new ginger half-kneazle Crookshanks lying in her arms, grumbling slightly at the rocking of the train. After a few greetings on the platform they immediately went to look for Harry. The girl was practically dying to ask him about his holidays – he mentioned in his letters that he was living with McGonagall and that she tutored him in Transfiguration, but when Hermione sent him a letter filled to the brim with questions, he grew evasive and wrote her a rather cheeky letter in which told her to 'wait till school'.

A big, big mistake.

There were two ways to really piss off one Hermione Jane Granger: the first being to offend her morals, as she was at her very core a fighter for justice. The second was to deny her information. Harry and Ron were still shivering at the memory of the rant their friend produced when learning about the Interdiction of Merlin and the Family Magic Law. The first was the ancient rule enforced by magic itself that did not allow the most powerful spells be written down and passed along by any means other than from a Master to an Apprentice. It was done so to prevent anyone not ready for the power such spells had from learning them. Of course, as with all rules, there were loopholes, but wizards as a whole treated the Interdiction with great respect.

The Family Magic Law was a later decree that allowed the existence of spells that were used solely by the members of a particular family. Both this law and the Interdiction served as deterrence for anyone attempting to learn spells that they weren't entitled to by the virtues of sensibility or blood. Naturally, Hermione took it all as an affront to all Muggleborns. That wasn't pretty.

And now, her best friend dared to not tell her about the things he was learning from her favourite professor and actually was teasing her with it.

Ron looked at the back of Hermione's head and shuddered.

_Merlin have mercy on his poor soul._

They finally reached the last cabin, where they have agreed to meet. On the door there was a note.

**'Harry Potter, Gryffindor extraordinaire,**

**The Boy-Who-Just-Won't-Die,**

**The Basilisk Slayer yadda-yadda-yadda,**

**rests here.**

**Enter at your own peril.'**

Hermione rolled her eyes and opened the door, ignoring Ron's guffaw. _Boys._

To her surprise, Harry really was sleeping on the seat, snoring lightly. Before entering, she was completely set on rant at him for not answering questions about his summer, but now she did not have the heart to wake him up. She smiled and sat quietly on the opposite seat, releasing Crookshanks and shushing Ron, who was opening his mouth to undoubtedly wake Harry up. They sat and talked quietly for about an hour before the door was opened. Before them stood Draco Malfoy, smirk on his face and two gorilla-like bodyguards of his behind him.

"Well, who do we have here? The Mudblood, the weasel, and the scarhead. Oy, Potty-head! Wake up when your betters talk to you!"

Harry stirred, yawned and sat up, opening his eyes and blinking groggily.

"What's the matter? Ah, Malfoy. Wake me up when it's something important," he said in a sleepy voice and lied down again. Hermione repressed a giggle and looked at Malfoy whose smirk had become a snarl.

"Potter! Wake up when you are talked to, you ignorant halfwit!"

Harry sighed and sat up for a second time.

"Look, Malfoy, I'm not a very patient guy. So how about you take your two apes and go do some verbal vomiting in another place?" he asked in a tired voice. Malfoy shook his head and smirked.

"You can't order your betters around, Potter."

Harry interrupted him with a snort.

"Better? In what, pray tell, are you better than me? Is your inbreeding factor higher than mine? I call that a blessing – look at your goons and you will have proof of my words," he grinned slightly, enjoying the possibility to use the knowledge he earned not long before.

Malfoy's face slowly paled even more from rage. He tried to say something, but Harry continued:

"However, your breeding is not your fault. Neither is your mind-set, come to think of it: you grew up with it. Your orientation is explainable as well. I mean, look at your father! It's a wonder how you were even conceived!"

Malfoy went past pale and into pale with red spots. Ron was openly snickering, but Hermione glanced at Harry, worried. He was still sleepy, but his rant was no less energetic because of it.

"But you know why I don't respect you and likely never will? You can't do anything on your own. Even Quidditch—your daddy bought you the place with the brooms. You act all high and mighty, but every time you are in a difficult situation, you fold and cry for your daddy. How many times did I hear from you the phrase 'When my father hears of this…'? Huh? Answer me, Malfoy! You are nothing but hot air... Now out of my sight, you spineless sack of crotch droppings!"

With these words, Harry stood up and closed the door with a bang and waved his wand at it.

"_Colloportus. _Merlin I despise the little shit!"

"Language, Harry," Hermione said absentmindedly, still staring at him in shock. He sighed and sat down._Swearing at the blonde ponce, bad boy. Go to your room and think about what you did._

"Sorry. He woke me up and I was cranky. Got a bit worked up."

"No shit," Ron muttered in an awed tone.

"Language, Ron," Hermione muttered, but the redhead ignored her.

"That was awesome, mate! Where did you hear that? 'Crotch droppings', really?"

The girl had enough.

"Stop cursing for Merlin's sake!" she shouted. Ron winced and slid further from her on the seat. Harry, who had just fully processed the fact that he wasn't alone, lifted his head and smiled.

"Hey, guys. How was your summer?"

"Awesome."

"Fine, as you perfectly well know. I wrote to you about it two days ago," Hermione answered stiffly. "Now, mister, you'd better talk about **your **summer, and don't you dare stall or make excuses!"

Harry made a pitiful face.

"But I really need to go..."

"Harry!" she cried indignantly.

"Oh fine, don't shout," he laughed, then leaned back and smiled at his friends lazily.

"Well, at first I must tell you that McGonagall is really a big softie behind the stern exterior. Of course, she tried to pull that 'No-nonsense Deputy Headmistress' act while alone with me, but it didn't last long. She even calls me 'Harry' now."

"You're kidding me," Ron goggled at him. Harry's grin grew wider and he shook his head.

"Nope. Unfortunately, she's likely to stop that once we're in the castle – professional etiquette and stuff like that. Well, that would be a bit too weird otherwise, so I'm not going to protest."

"And what did she teach you?" Hermione finally asked. Harry's grin turned mischievous.

"Well, this and that. You'll have to wait and see."

Hermione stood up, sat next to him and smacked him upside the head.

"Ouch!"

"You earned it!" she said menacingly, or at least as menacingly as she could while laughing internally. "Now – talk!"

"You are a violent woman. Ouch! See? There was a Malfoy here and she attacks me instead! Okay, jokes aside, long story short we found out that I'm rather gifted in Transfiguration."

Hermione blinked, not having expected this.

"What do you mean – gifted?"

Harry hummed and scratched the back of his head.

"Well, the key to transfiguring something is visualizing the change, right?"

She nodded, puzzled.

"Well, I never really visualized. I kinda got it all wrong because I didn't know the meaning of the word and I always was just trying to force things to transform by willing them to. Naturally, McGonagall corrected it as soon as she realised it, which made things a lot easier than they used to be. It all just clicks, you know? The Professor asked me not to delve into organic-to-organic and self-transfiguration, as those things are dangerous if you mess them up. The same goes with gasses, but that is a universal no-go which I didn't even think about experimenting with. For now, I think that this breakthrough in what is clearly the most difficult subject we've had bar Potions will come in handy. Runes and Arithmancy will surely take quite a lot of effort this year."

Hermione stared at him, feeling a sort of pride that he was approaching this so maturely. _Now if only Ron was the same. _She sighed and leaned back in the seat, glancing at the door. That reminded her about something.

"By the way, what's the deal with the note on the door? Did you grow a big head?"

Harry laughed, waving his hand.

"Nah, you would deflate it immediately. That was just a joke. I thought about adding something about the troll, but technically it was Ron who knocked out the smelly bugger," Harry paused. "You know, Ron kinda deserves a title for that!"

Ron smiled smugly and scratched his head.

"What would it be then? Troll Hunter?"

"Nah, not flashy enough. Troll-brainer?" Harry chortled at the look on Ron's face. "Yeah, thought not."

The boys grinned at each other, accepting the game, and proceeded to invent more and more ridiculous nicknames.

"Leviclubbus?"

"The-Guy-Who-Stunned?"

"Prince Charming?" both Harry and Ron lifted an eyebrow at Hermione, who grew a bit pink. "Well, Wingardium Leviosa **is **a charm."

"You know, I like that one," Harry noted after a short pause. "You went in and faced a monster to save your lady. Nice."

Hermione blushed stronger, but still had a small smile on her lips. Ron's ears were flaming red, and he refused to meet the eyes of anybody else.

While Harry was chuckling at their embarrassment, Crookshanks jumped to Hermione's hands and she automatically started petting him. She threw a glance at Harry and noticed him participate in a staring contest with the half-kneazle.

"And who's this guy?" Harry asked, still staring at the cat without blinking.

"He's my cat, Crookshanks," she answered. Harry nodded and blinked accidentally.

"Ah, damn. Lost contest to a fur ball. Well... I must say that he is either extremely cute in an ugly sort of way, or damn ugly in a cute sort of way. I can't figure it out."

Crookshanks meowed in a distinctly protesting tone, and Harry chuckled.

"No offense, big guy. If Hermione has chosen you for a pet, you're okay in my book."

"Not in mine," Ron muttered darkly, having gotten over his embarrassment. Harry glanced at him.

"Let me guess – the ginger menace either didn't like Scabbers, or liked our good ol'

ray of sunshine too much?"

"Right in one. Scabbers was ill even before Hermione bought that monstrosity, but now he is positively wasting away!"

"Crookshanks isn't a monstrosity!" she protested, and the cat meowed in agreement.

The second half of the trip to school was uneventful. Ron shared the details of his visit to Egypt, including a slightly funny (not that Hermione admitted it) story about the time when the twins locked Percy in a pyramid. Yes, it was a bit cruel, but the perfect imitation of Percy's reaction that Ron performed made it difficult for the girl to maintain her poker face.

Approximately half an hour before they were to be in Hogsmeade the train slowed down and stopped. She looked outside the window and didn't see any of the signs that they were already at the station.

"Why have we stopped?" Ron grumbled. Harry shrugged.

"I don't know. We aren't there yet, and… Wait," he looked at the front of the train. "Someone's moving aboard."

They sat in silence for a long time. Hermione shivered slightly and only then noticed that the temperature has been getting lower and lower for the last five minutes. Their breath was coming out in fog and the window was misted over as well. Ron looked at Harry, who silently grabbed his wand, a grim expression on his face.

"I have a **really **bad feeling about this," he grumbled, standing up. He quietly opened the door and looked out into the corridor. They looked at him as he shuddered, grew still for a moment and staggered backwards, closing the door with a bang and falling on his backside.

"Harry! What's happening?" Hermione asked him frantically, coming to his side and checking him for any external clues as to what has just happened. He was paler than a sheet and trembled slightly, his eyes wide and looking at something only he could see.

Hermione and Ron were Harry's best friends for a long time. They went through so much together: the troll, the Philosopher's stone defences, all the chaos of anti-Muggleborn attacks last year. But not once in their life have they seen him scared.

And now he was, to the point of cold sweat and shaking, terrified out of his mind. For them it was disturbing to the highest degree. Hermione looked at the closed door in fear. _What was there that reduced Harry to this state?_

"Harry? Harry! What happened? Are you OK?" Ron asked, unsettled. Harry blinked, as if coming to his senses, drew a shaking breath and pointed his wand at the door.

_"__Colloportus."_

The locking spell immediately slammed the door closed.

"Harry, what's wrong? What did you see?"

Harry shook his head in response and lifted himself from the floor. After a minute, when he started to come around, they glimpsed bright silver light coming from under the door. After a brief pulse the light receded and vanished, the overwhelming cold leaving along with it.

"Something wrong on every level…" Harry muttered finally. "I don't know what that was, but it was **wrong.**" He raised his head. "Someone cried... A woman. Hermione, are you alright?"

"I didn't cry, Harry," was a puzzled answer. "And I didn't hear anything."

"Weird."

All three of grew silent. Hermione was looking at Harry in worry. Ron was doing the same.

The rest of the trip to Hogwarts went in grim silence.

The walk from the Hogsmeade station to the carriages lacked the usual cheer as most of the students were still trying to get over the feelings forced on them by the creatures that swept the train. Some of them were acting cheerful, trying to raise the spirits of their peers, some were really not affected at all, but there were also those who still were trembling like leaves in the wind.

Harry sat in the carriage going to the school, breathing in the cool air and trying to soothe himself. He still felt cold. _Whatever _**_that _**_thing was, it affected me greatly. I only got a glimpse of the dark figure at the end of the train, and it reduced me to a mess!_

He felt more than saw the worried looks Hermione and Ron were giving him since the incident. He could understand them – if one of them was in his place, he would be extremely worried as well. _But __would they have the same reaction? Maybe it is just me that is weak! _Harry waved that thought off. _Whoever confronted the creature on the train would be terrified just as I was._

Harry narrowed his eyes, looking in the distance. He just had a thought that, if true, would explain some things.

_But why would Dumbledore allow dementors on the train? Surely he understood what a terrible idea that was!_

Harry got out of the carriage, thinking furiously. _Those creatures are under control of Ministry. They guard Azkaban. Therefore, there is only one reason they would be on the train – Black. Nevertheless, did our esteemed headmaster eat one lemon drop too many? Allowing them near the children is madness!_

The trio entered the Great Hall and sat down at the Gryffindor table opposite to the twins.

"Hermione, Harry – good to see you two!" the left twin said, while the right one nodded. Harry managed to smile tiredly at them, though judging by their faces, the smile was of an unsettling kind.

"Harry, mate, what has happened to you?" the left twin asked with a frown.

"You look like death that no one's bothered to warm!" the right one added with a mirroring expression.

Hermione answered that before Harry could open his mouth.

"Whatever it was that was in the corridor when we stopped."

"And he looks fine in comparison to how he was directly after that," Ron said, looking at him. Harry rolled his eyes slightly.

"I'm fine now. But I can't imagine what Dumbledore was thinking bringing dementors to the train, Black or not."

"Dementors?" George boggled at him. "That was what they were? The demons that bring out one's worst memories?"

"Well, that explains why Ginny was beside herself," Fred shook his head sadly.

Harry immediately looked at Ginny, who sat down the table near the other second-years. As if feeling his stare, she looked up the moment his eyes found her. She smiled at him – well, more like grimaced – and he nodded. There was a moment of complete understanding between them.

The first years passed between the tables. Harry looked at them in wonder and curiosity. _Was I that tiny? What am I talking about, I'm still not that tall__._ Harry briefly mused why exactly his height was very much average when his father was said to be rather tall, but soon got distracted by the Hat's song.

Harry listened to the usual advertisements of different Houses in rhymed form. He wondered if the only thing the Hat did all year was thinking up the lyrics for the next song while sitting in the Headmaster's office. It was a p_retty miserable existence, come to think of it._

A couple of minutes later the Sorting was complete and the Headmaster rose from his throne-like chair.

"I have a few announcements to make, but that will wait. For now – tuck in!"

"Hear, hear!" Ron muttered, before attacking the appeared food with a vengeance. Harry shared a look with Hermione, who shook her head fondly and followed his example, if only without making a mess.

Once the last of the desserts vanished, leaving the plates sparkling clean, the headmaster got to his feet.

"Now, on with the start-of-the-year announcements. I remind you that the Forbidden forest is exactly that, forbidden. We would have renamed it otherwise. Mister Filch, our caretaker, as always has asked me to remind you all again that casting spells in the corridors is not permitted. However, we all know the difference between what should be and what is," he waited out the snickers. Harry smiled and shook his head at the Headmaster's typical brand of humour: wise-sounding remarks with a philosophical air about them.

Dumbledore continued. "The list of forbidden items has once again expanded. You can see it on the door of caretaker's office." He paused and his eyes stopped twinkling. _Whatever he is going to say next must be a grave matter indeed. Wait, when did I start imitating him in my thoughts?_

"As many of you know, Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban," what little noise there was in the background immediately vanished. "As per the minister of magic's order, the Hogwarts grounds are now guarded by the dementors."

Harry's jaw met the table._How Dumbledore could agree to something like this? Well, judging from the clear distaste on his face, he didn't. Interesting..._

"They will patrol the castle's outer walls. Do not leave the grounds – they will not differentiate between a convict and a student. They are very dangerous and provoking them would be a terrible mistake. Don't go anywhere near them."

"So now we have a legion of demons supposedly 'protecting' us. Hell, we need protection from them!" Harry muttered to the nods of agreement from his friends.

"Onto the more pleasant news, professor Kettleburn has decided to retire and enjoy the use of his remaining limbs. His place as professor of Care for Magical creatures will be taken by no other than Rubeus Hagrid!"

The trio goggled at their friend, who had to be elbowed by McGonagall to remember to stand up. They cheered at him together with the rest of the Gryffindor table. Harry snickered when he saw that when Hagrid stood up, he moved the table away from the rest of the teachers, causing Snape to drop his tea on his lap. _Oh, that face!_

"Well, it explains the biting book," Ron said and Harry nodded with a wry grin.

"Yeah, if that isn't Hagrid's style, I don't know what is."

"Defence against the Dark Arts will be taught this year by professor Remus Lupin. Good luck, professor."

The student body clapped politely, looking at the new professor appraisingly. _The guy took modesty to a new level and somehow managed to make worn clothes look good, or, at least, as good as possible. I grew up with Dursleys, I know something about rags._

"I wonder what's wrong with the new professor," Harry said thoughtfully as they walked to the Gryffindor tower.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked and Harry looked at him as if he was being an idiot, which he currently was.

"First year: stuttering fool of a professor, piggy-backing Voldemort to the castle," he ignored the flinch at the name. "Second year: we've got Lockhart, the Obnoxious Obliviating Oligophren…"

"Oligo-who?" Ron blinked.

"It means 'imbecile'," Hermione explained absently. "So you think that the new teacher will be just as bad only because we didn't have decent teachers previously?"

"Hang on. Oi! Fred! George! Wait a second!" the twins stopped before a staircase that just moved away.

"Guys, who taught Defence before Quirrell?"

They frowned and shared a look.

"Professor Hughes," Fred said slowly and George nodded, grinning widely.

"Good woman, halfway decent teacher, but she got fired with a **bang****,**" they snickered.

"Yeah. That was a certifiable shit-storm," Fred reminisced with a mischievous smile, as if remembering something particularly amusing. The staircase returned to its place. Hermione stared at them suspiciously as they continued walking to the tower.

"What did you do?"

The twins shared an amused grin.

"Why, Hermione, we didn't do anything!"

"Pity, that," Fred shook his head in regret. George punched him in the arm.

"You wouldn't know what to do, brother of mine."

"And you would?"

"Unfortunately, no, I wouldn't. Bill gave us the talk only after that year, remember?" they both grinned widely and winked at Ron, who after a couple of seconds of stupid blinking grew redder than a tomato. Judging by the slightly appalled and thoughtful look on Hermione's face, she was close to understanding what the hell happened to that teacher. Harry turned to the twins.

"What, precisely, caused said storm of bodily fluids?"

"Well, McGonagall caught her together with three Slytherin seventh years in her office," George said, smiling somewhat predatory.

"Why couldn't it be Gryffindors?" Fred wailed, putting his hands together as if praying.

"Well, there **is**that saying about Slytherins and their snakes…"

"George!" Hermione screeched, blushing wildly. Harry looked from twins to my friends, a bit confused.

"I'm not following."

Fred and George looked at him in surprise, then comprehension. After that they shared a look and turned to him with predatory smirks. Harry managed to withhold a reflexive gulp, but that was a close call.

"Harry, our friend…" George began.

"Do you know, per chance, where babies come from?"

"Well, of course, but..."

He blinked. And then his brain pieced together the hints from the previous dialogue that he ignored because of the seeming impossibility of the conclusion.

"She did not..."

They nodded with similar grins. Both Ron and Hermione resembled tomatoes by this time.

"Merlin! I thought she was caught having tea with the students, which is not a reason for tossing her out of the school, but..."

"If they were drinking anything, it wasn't tea, that's for sure!" George winked at him. Ron blanched suddenly – an impressive feat of his capillary system considering he was redder than a boiled crayfish before becoming whiter than a chalk.

"I've just had a disgusting thought about McGonagall..." he said in a monotone voice. The company gagged.

"**Thank you **for that wonderful mental image, Ronniekins."

"I think I threw up in my mouth a bit..."

"RONALD! That is disgusting!"

"No, seriously, Ron, what is it with you and making me want to throw up? First recommending Knight Bus, now this... Ugh, I need to wash my brain," Harry shook his head. "OK, moving along. Do you know who the DADA professor before her was?"

"Professor Cardigan. Nice man, but didn't know a thing about teaching. Still, he was better than Snape."

"He was found dead near the forest in the end of the year. No one knows what happened, but it seemed like a Killing Curse."

"Okay. And before him...?"

The twins shrugged in synch.

"Ask someone older, but not Percy, you know how he is about the teachers."

"Yeah, we wonder if he's adopted."

"What about Ronniekins? We wonder the same about him, as well."

"Ah, but we do it only occasionally. With Percy, it's all the time."

They continued in the same vein even after the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open. Harry rolled his eyes at the banter and went on to find anybody who would inform him.

Elsa Connors, the seventh year prefect, told them that the DADA professor from her first year had to be extradited to Germany – apparently, the guy was a mass murderer. Her second year was only marginally better featuring a prim woman who was brought up in an abbey and was fiercely religious. Her beliefs and her magical inclination mixed weirdly and she varied between being a moderately good teacher and having passionate rants about the sinful nature of everything in the castle. After the school year she was hospitalised and now was in St. Mungo's Mental Ward. The mind healers were optimistic, though.

After hearing this, Harry threw a meaningful look at his friends. Hermione sighed.

"Fine, Harry, you were right. But what are you going to do about it?"

He grinned at her.

"**We **are going to do exactly what we do best – investigate!"


	5. Buck Up and Study

**Chapter updated: 30.09.14**

_"Ron, you okay?"_

_"I'm fine. Damn, what was that?"_

_"A golem."_

_"Don't bullshit me! Golems can't do magic, that much I know for sure!"_

_"Mine can."_

**Chapter 5: Buck Up and Study**

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up in high spirits. After a quick shower, he went to the Common room to find Hermione waiting for him. "Let's go find Ron."

They found him – surprise, surprise – in the Great Hall, wolfing down his breakfast with abandon. Harry sat near him and took one of the last pancakes. Then looked at the food item and remembered a curious fact.

"Elves."

"Wha?" Ron mumbled before swallowing noisily. Hermione winced.

"I said 'Elves'. The food is prepared by house-elves."

"Of course it is, young Potter," Sir Nick said, floating nearby. "Here is the largest elven commune in Britain."

There was a loud crash from Hermione's direction. She looked at the remains of her plate in a mix of disgust and surprise.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked, pushing his own plate away.

"Sir Nicholas, about the house elves…" Hermione trailed off. The ghost looked at her.

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

"Are they paid?" she asked finally. Both Ron and Sir Nick snorted.

"Paid? Elves?" Nick snorted again. "What's next – days off? Pension and insurance? Don't be ridiculous, young miss."

Hermione's face could as well be carved from stone.

"Slavery … This food is the result of **slavery?****!**" she stood up and Harry followed.

"Sir Nick, how do we get to the kitchens?" he asked. Ron looked at him and Hermione as if they were refusing some sort of absolute prize. T_o be fair, in his view we were probably doing precisely that,_Harry thought wryly.

"Ah… to the left in the grand staircase, then down to the first underground level, corridor to the right, second painting to your left, tickle the pear," the ghost said slowly. Harry nodded to him and, grabbing Hermione's hand, told Ron:

"Take our schedules, will you? We will be in the kitchens."

He nodded dumbly and they left.

Following Nick's directions, Harry quickly found himself in the needed corridor.

"A pear on a painting ... Tickle the pear. But which one?" he asked, looking at the portraits nearby. Nearly all of them pictured food. Groaning, he proceeded to tickle all the pears he could see. Finally, a pear on the painting that depicted a large vase of fruits giggled and turned into a handle.

"This is undoubtedly number two in the top of unusual doors in this school," he shook his head and grabbed the handle. "The first being the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets"

Hermione snorted and he opened the door.

Immediately he was assaulted by an avalanche of sounds and smells, and stopped cold, nearly stunned by its intensity. Fortunately, after a moment the noise vanished. It reminded him of elementary school and how the kids there would do thunderous mayhem without the teacher in class, but the moment he returns, the class becomes silent as the grave.

Shaking off the memory, he entered fully and looked around.

_I see small people._

Well, he saw elves, a damn lot of them. Sir Nick wasn't joking when he said that there was the largest community in Britain right in the castle. And all of them looked at Harry with their large, unblinking eyes, in complete silence.

It was creepy as hell.

Then in one motion that had him staggering, they jumped and ran to him as if he was in a B-movie about a House Elf Zombie Apocalypse, the only difference being that instead of "Brrraainns!" they were screaming lines like "How can I service the young Master?" or "Would yous like some tea?"._Damn it_, Harry thought, looking around at their eager faces and clutching his heart, _they are certainly out to kill me._

But then Hermione intervened, bless her bushy hair. She started to ask the little buggers about the precise details of their work while her shell-shocked friend was calming himself and looking around.

Most of the kitchen was the right size for a human being, which seemed to him to be fairly impractical from a normal wizard's point of view. If you trust your servant, why not make his work easier? There were a few answers to that question, none of them very nice. The best and most probable answer was that no one thought of this. The wizard folk were very illogical, which was a traditional subject of Hermione's occasional rants. "Why use your brain when you have magic?" Harry personally thought that wizards had their own logic.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't particularly care what had been going through the heads of those who had built the kitchens. For his purposes the current circumstances were ideal. He turned to a dejected-looking Hermione and the horde of elves that looked at her with horror and complete confusion. When he listened to Hermione's words he nearly laughed. She wanted to free them! Well, it seemed a noble goal, but a difficult one seeing that the elves themselves didn't want that. Harry coughed, summoning their attention.

"Hermione, you should look up House-Elves in the library before charging off… but I didn't come here for this. Guys, I want to cook for myself."

The effect was rather comical. The little buggers tried their hardest to persuade him not to turn down their services, wailing about how their bad work dissuaded him from their food and promising to do better. Honestly, he couldn't put a word in – all of them at once were crying, begging and whatever else they thought about doing. In the background Hermione stood looking at him with pride as if he decided to do that because of her newest crusade for the rights of house elves. His experience with McGonagall's Elf helped him a great deal in the resulting argument. In the end the house elves gave up and showed him a place to cook in the corner where he won't be in the way. To his great surprise, Hermione stood right next to him with a mix of uncertainty and determination on her face.

"Uhm... Harry, do you know how to cook?" she asked. The boy lifted an eyebrow.

"Duh. You don't, I take it?"

She shrugged sheepishly.

"I didn't think it would be needed so early in my life, and so..." Harry nodded in understanding. "Can you teach me?"

Harry chuckled and nodded again. Then he turned towards the elves and shouted:

"Hey guys, where do you keep the eggs?"

Ten minutes later they sat at one of the tables that were in the kitchen, enjoying breakfast (a simple affair of fried eggs and some toast with pumpkin juice) and chatting about classes. The tables – five of them – greatly resembled the tables in the Great Hall. Harry's hypothesis was that somehow the tables were used to transport the food from kitchens during meals. Now, though, breakfast was over and they were clear.

"I wonder what Snape will take points for this year," Harry mused, wincing and biting into the lone remaining toast. "'Weasley, you are breathing in class! 5 points from Gryffindor!' Or, perhaps, 'Potter! You have dared to brew a potion that differs in colour from the medical grade example. 10 points for being a glory-seeking dimwit!'"

"'Buffoon and dunderhead'." Hermione added in an absent-minded tone. The boy goggled at her with shock while she stared at him with the same expression.

_Hermione made a joke._

_Hermione made a funny joke._

_Hermione made a funny joke about a teacher._

_What is wrong with this picture?!_

Of course, this was exactly the moment when Ron entered the kitchen. Seeing his friends, he quickly walked over to them.

"Harry, Hermione, I have our timetables, and they suck! We better move, 'cause we have Potions with Slytherins in about twelve minutes!"

That drew their attention. They simultaneously grabbed the timetables Ron held in his hand and looked them through. Seeing a confirmation to Ron's words, Harry stood up and took off at full speed only hissing "Shit, shit, shit," timing it so that an expletive was uttered on every fourth stride. Ron and Hermione soon followed his example, bar the cursing part.

Approximately eleven minutes and forty seconds later they were standing near the door of Snape's domain. 'The Bat-cave', as Terry Boot dubbed it once.

Harry stood and held himself by the wall, catching his breath from the run. Ron fared a bit worse than him – having Oliver-The-Taskmaster as Quidditch captain tended to make you at least marginally fit. You wouldn't survive otherwise. Hermione was absolutely crashing down – she was a strong girl, having to drag her bag around the school (Harry carried it to the Common room from the library once. He still couldn't understand how in blazes she managed to do it all day), but she couldn't run well at all.

Malfoy stood opposite them, Crabbe and Goyle at his sides and Parkinson behind him. He glared at Harry, but didn't say anything._Interesting – maybe my little rant back on the train persuaded him to kindly leave me alone? If so, then Christmas has come early. If not … well, even a brief mercy of not suffering his presence is a present to cherish._ Malfoy was all hot air and big words, yes, but that didn't deter him from being incredibly annoying.

After a couple of minutes of waiting, the door opened by itself. Shrugging in a resigned manner, Harry entered the class. Snape wasn't visible.

Glancing around to verify that the Potions professor hadn't just hidden in a corner to frighten unaware Gryffindors by jumping out with a scream, he walked to his usual seat and proceeded to take his things out of the bag. The other students followed.

In another minute, when everyone was seated, Snape smashed the door leading to his office open and walked into the class, glaring at the students, cape-a-billowing. Harry looked at him and noticed an obvious fact that somehow eluded him until this very moment.

Snape was a drama queen.

Not just a queen – a full-blown diva! If Harry had to guess the potions professor waited until everyone was seated to enter with the maximum epicness (was that a word? Ah well, it suited) possible._Seriously, look at that cape!_ Harry shook his head and tried his hardest to repress his smile, meeting limited success in this endeavour.

"All of you by now assuredly have learned the elementary skills needed for potion making. Some, however..." Snape looked at Harry and Neville pointedly. "...wouldn't be here if the exams weren't cancelled last year."

Slytherins snickered while Harry maintained a stony expression.

"Today, you will brew the Fire-Proof Concoction, used for the long-term thermal protection of wood. Without it we would have to replace a table in this classroom after every lesson with Longbottom present. Instructions are on the board. Begin!"

All-in-all, nothing had changed from last year. Snape stalked between the rows, sometimes making a cutting remark to a Gryffindor or giving quiet advice to a Slytherin. Of course, he vanished Harry's potion about five minutes away from the end of the lesson, citing it completely off the mark. Sure, it wasn't precisely lime green and was slightly darker and its vapours were fainter than needed, but it was satisfactory. Not that Snape cared about Harry's concoction's quality.

The boy in question exited the dungeons half-amused and half-annoyed. He absently noted that it was significantly better than what he felt after Potions last year. His new idea to view Snape's antics from the point 'what will the King of Drama show us this time?' did wonders to his Snape-tolerance levels.

He glanced at the timetable and shook his head._Mondays this year will be very difficult, what with__Double Potions, Transfiguration and Arithmancy__._ He glanced at Ron, who was walking beside him and just now ended a monologue about Snape and his bias. Hermione was mostly silent, only sometimes interrupting him with a traditional "Language, Ronald."

"Ron, listen what I just noticed..."

While they were walking to Transfiguration, Harry told his friends about his observations and subsequent decision to view professor Snape as, basically, a source of amusement. Of course, Hermione didn't particularly approve of him calling a member of staff 'a moody child in an adult's body', but even she admitted that this was better than taking offence at the professor's attitude and earning a detention.

When they entered the Transfiguration classroom Hermione remembered that she wanted to see for herself if Harry's boasts about his recently found prowess in Transfiguration held any amount of truth. Personally, she hoped that Harry wasn't just bragging, but she couldn't quite believe it without seeing it for herself.

After a couple of minutes of waiting, professor McGonagall finally showed up.

"Today, we begin the third year of Hogwarts Transfiguration course. The main subject of this year is Inanimate to Animate transformations. As usual, I will explain the basic theory that you need to know before we make the first steps. Let us begin."

The next half an hour was spent furiously writing down everything that professor McGonagall said. Periodically Hermione glanced at Harry, who sat there and just listened, only sometimes bothering to write down an especially crucial point.

"Harry!" she hissed. "Why aren't you writing?"

Immediately she started scribbling even faster, catching up with the professor's speech. Harry snorted.

"I hate pointless writing, and almost everything she says is either something that I know instinctively, or something she told me this summer, or plain common sense. If I hear anything new, I write it down."

She threw him an affronted look, but left him alone. He **did**have a point.

Finally, McGonagall was done with her lecture. She flicked her wand at a box on her table, sending pincushions flying to each student's desks, briskly tasking them to transfigure their pincushions into a hedgehog till the end of the period.

Hermione took out her wand and practiced the needed incantation and movement. After she was sure that she got it perfectly, she looked at the pincushion and clearly pronounced the spell, swishing her wand in the taught elliptic pattern and visualizing the change. The pincushion grew legs, became grey and tried to escape. The girl frowned and tried again after cancelling the transfiguration. This time the hedgehog was almost complete – for some reason it was headless. Another try and it was perfect.

"Very well, miss Granger; ten points to Gryffindor!" the professor said from the front of the class as she moved to check on Dean Thomas' work. Hermione beamed and looked at her friends. Ron was glaring daggers at his pincushion, which had a couple of wiggling legs and was somehow red. Also, were those fins? Harry, however...

Harry was looking at his hedgehog serenely, twirling his wand in his fingers and periodically adding something to the poor animal – like turning its mouth into a crocodile's maw or growing it another pair of legs. And he did it all silently and with only a flick of his wrist.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" he waved his wand and the poor hedgehog's tail grew and became a snake, which immediately started to hiss at him. "Just messing around - I'm bored. Why you cheeky little... appendage…"

"How are you doing this? When did you finish the task?" Hermione watched his lazy manipulations with fascination – he was transfiguring the animal with such **ease**...

"As soon as it was given," he cancelled the transformations and gave her a mockingly insulted glare. Then he turned to the hedgehog, narrowed his eyes and after a dozen of quick spells turned what was once a poor, innocent pincushion into something distinctly Lovecraftian.

"Ahem," they turned to see professor McGonagall standing right behind them.

She looked at Harry sternly, and he shrank slightly under the glare.

"Mister Potter, it seems to me that you have already aced the practical side of this lesson. Having said that, I believe I told all of you in the first lesson in your first year that you do not mess with transfiguration."

Harry looked like he wanted to gulp.

"Do not play around in this classroom, Mr. Potter. Transfiguration is not a toy."

Harry nodded quickly, and professor McGonagall walked away to correct Parvati, who somehow managed to make the pincushion grow a rat's tail.

After the lesson ended, the trio started talking about the amount of homework McGonagall promised to unleash upon them. Hermione shortly ran off to make a study schedule, proclaiming that without it they were doomed.

When time came to go to Arithmancy she met Harry and Ron near the class and passed them the schedules. Harry took out his timetable and compared it to her work.

"Making the schedule wasn't that hard – it helped that we signed up for same courses and therefore still had identical timetables. Sure, I missed lunch, but it was worth it."

"Oh **boy**," Harry breathed. "Hermione, are you sure that we will have to dedicate so much time to it?" he asked in a tiny voice. She nodded.

"I looked at the coursework. The amount of theory that we will need to learn is staggering. Any less time for learning and we will not succeed," she said authoritatively. He sighed.

"This year is going to s**uck.**"

"Language!"

Arithmancy was every bit as brilliant as Hermione hoped and just as difficult as Ron dreaded. Professor Vector seemed to be a fair and stern teacher who loved her subject, not unlike professor McGonagall.

"Arithmancy is a key to all magic," she said in the beginning of the lesson. "Along with Ancient Runes, this course will help you to understand your magic much better than before."

Ron was wearing a resigned expression, obviously expecting a lot of homework on this subject and dreading it. Harry seemed slightly wary as well, but he definitely was interested. Hermione, on the other hand, was starry-eyed.

"This year, we will mostly research the complex rules of maths and the magical properties of different numbers, along with the basics of numerology. Next year we will learn the complex craft of statistical prediction and using Arithmancy as a tool to predict events. During your fifth year, we will begin researching spells using the skills you will have learned, analysing them and writing spell formulas of growing complexity and depth. Those of you who will take the NEWT level Arithmancy course will be taught spell creation – you will learn how to create magic that is absolutely and wholly yours! That is a goal that is worth pursuing by any self-respecting wizard or witch!"

Hermione glanced smugly at her friends. Ron was slightly calmer now, and Harry looked at professor Vector with rapt attention. The expression on his face was familiar to her – he wore it every time he saw a spell or a piece of theory that he deemed worth learning. It meant that he was going to do his hardest to study, and as one to know the strength of his willpower, she immediately knew that she would have to make some additional time for Arithmancy in their study schedule.

The lesson itself was an introductory one. Professor Vector explained the short version of why numbers could influence magic. The 'short' explanation occupied the whole lesson, and professor mentioned that the long version will be taught in the beginning of fifth year.

"Well, what do you think?" Hermione asked when the trio got out of the class. Ron winced and rubbed his neck with his left hand.

"Sure, what she said sounds awesome, but it will be just **so much work**… And to think that we could be at Divination instead," he trailed off. Harry lifted his eyebrow at him.

"It was brilliant!" he said firmly. "Personally, I don't think that wasting my time on Divination is better than working my arse off on Arithmancy…"

"Language."

"…What I think is that learning Arithmancy will be great!" he paused and frowned, remembering their next period. "Anyway, what do you think we will cover in Defence this year?"

"The Ministry guidelines say that we have Dark Creatures this year."

They entered the Common room and were immediately intercepted by Oliver Wood.

"Hey, Harry, we've got the trials Sunday morning," he said brightly.

"Hi Ollie. Trials? Why? Currently, we've got the best team in Hogwarts skill-wise, and don't forget our terrific teamwork – I don't think that any changes in status-quo would be beneficial." Harry noted and blinked._That sentence had far too many syllables._

"True, however, we need to look for potential. It can't hurt, can it?" Wood shrugged. Harry scratched his chin in thought.

"That makes sense. Very well, I'll be there."

"I'll go see the others, then. See you on the pitch!" with a jovial wave Wood departed. Immediately Hermione dragged the boys to the closest free table.

"Well, we best get started!"

"What, now? It's the first day of school, Hermione!" Ron whined. Harry didn't say anything, but his grimace clearly expressed his view on studying right now.

"And we already have a lot of homework!" she countered.

Ron sat down and started rummaging through his bag with a disgruntled expression. Harry sighed in a resigned tone and followed his example.

"Yeah. Do you think it is better to start with Arithmancy or Transfiguration?" he asked, looking though the study schedule.

"I say we do Potions first," was the suggestion. Harry looked up and nodded slowly.

"Get it out of the way, right? Good idea."

Tuesday that year was a day of relaxation, it seemed. Double Defence against the Dark Arts with Hufflepuffs and double Care for Magical creatures with Slytherins – both were mostly practical, which was a true blessing – Merlin knows Harry had more than his fair share of theory workload that year.

So it was with a spring in his steps that he approached the Defence classroom. It appeared that he trio was the first to arrive. Glancing to the left and right to confirm that Ron and Hermione were right behind him, he carefully opened the door and stepped inside, looking around.

In their first year, the walls there were plastered with pictures of different magical fauna and the classroom reeked of garlic, creating tremendous headaches. Quirrell's stuttering didn't help at all. Come to think of it, neither did Voldemort's presence.

In the second year the room had a second-degree Lockhart contamination. His damn portraits were all over the walls, smiling and waving at students. The teacher could also cause headaches, but he did not need a speech impediment or vegetable cologne. He managed it through sheer pompousness.

This year the classroom lacked any and all personal effects. The only thing that looked to be suspicious was the violently shaking drawer in the middle of the room. It either contained something that will be studied today, or professor Lupin managed to do something that required a level of stupidity that even Lockhart hadn't managed and locked himself inside without a wand.

"Hello-o!" Harry called just in case. No one answered.

"Why did you do that?" Hermione asked, looking at him as if he grew horns and started to dance the cancan while singing 'Ave Maria'.

"Why indeed, Mr. Potter?"

They whirled around. Professor Lupin stood just inside the doorway to his personal quarters, peering at their fidgeting forms in restrained amusement.

"Well frankly, sir, I did it just in case it was you who was locked in there," Harry nodded towards the rocking and jumping drawer. Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"And why, pray tell, would you suspect such a thing?"

"With Defence professors, you can never be sure about anything," was the deadpan answer. The Professor's eyebrow raised a bit more in response. "If a professor looks like he won't harm a fly," Harry continued explaining, "He's extremely dangerous. If he is an insufferable buffoon, he is the kind of fool that decides that jumping on a bottle labelled "Nitro-glycerine" is a**smashing** idea. Therefore, if I see shaking furniture in the Defence classroom, I will expect that something dangerous and/or strange happened and most likely it involves the teacher."

Lupin stared at him for a couple of seconds and then chuckled.

"Five points to Gryffindor for your commendable caution, Mr. Potter," he said after his laughter receded. "Now, while we wait for the rest of the class, take a seat."

Hermione looked like she didn't know whether to snort or swat Harry. In the end, she did both.

After the students finally got to the class, Lupin coughed awkwardly and after a quick roll-call started the lesson.

"Well, the subject of today's lesson is a creature called the boggart. Does anyone know what it is exactly? Yes, Miss Granger," he nodded to Hermione, who obviously had her hand in the air the moment Lupin asked his question.

"A boggart is a half-spiritual creature that can be found in abandoned dwellings, especially magical ones. No one knows how a boggart really looks like because when approached it takes form of a person's greatest fear as a defence mechanism."

"5 points to Gryffindor. All of that is true. Boggarts are really very shy creatures, very afraid of everything they see. So to protect themselves, they transform into something that is most likely to make the aggressor leave them well alone. However, a boggart can be repelled through negating this very defence and turning it around."

"What do you mean, sir?" Susan Bones asked.

"Laughter," Professor Lupin answered succinctly. "It is a boggart's greatest fear. Due to its nature, a boggart's appearance can be modified to be humorous. The incantation for this is_Riddikulus._Repeat after me…"

"_Riddikulus__,_" the class mumbled.

"Good. Now, in this drawer…" he indicated the mentioned piece of furniture, which continually drew wary looks. "…is a boggart. You will face him one at a time, using the spell_Riddikulus _to morph the boggart into something funny. Now, form a line!"

A couple of minutes later it was Harry's turn to face the boggart that has so far nearly reduced Lavender to silent terror and shaking and made nearly everybody deathly pale. _Oh well, it was worth seeing Snape in those ridiculous clothes. _Harry almost couldn't believe that Lupin had actually pranked Snape (and yes, it was a deliberate prank – he clearly saw a mischievous smile on Lupin's face before he advised Neville on how best to counter the boggart). Harry walked to the stumbling Acromantula and waited for a moment. The boggart paused and looked at him. Then it vanished in a swirl of grey smoke. When it cleared, the boy sharply sucked a breath in.

A dementor.

_Of course. Nothing and absolutely nothing spooks me just as much as the soul-eating demons__. _He couldn't even move his hand up to defend himself, all of his being paralyzed with overwhelming fear. Later he was told that it was only a couple of seconds before Lupin interfered, but to him, it felt like hours.

"_Riddikulus!_"

The aura of despair immediately vanished. The black cape of the dementor became eye-watering pink with silver stars and unicorns. A long lime-green beard appeared out of the cowl. The boggart stopped, confused. Harry shook his head and to his surprise found himself on his knees. _When had I fallen?_ He looked at the creature and grimaced. Now that he thought about it, a Dumbledore-ish dementor was a rather amusing idea.

"Thank you, sir. It… overwhelmed me."

Lupin, who stood in a couple of meters from him and stared at the confused boggart, nodded and, after helping him to his feet, called:

"Next!"

Harry sat at the table in the kitchens with Ron and Hermione opposite to him. Ron decided to follow their example and eat downstairs so he had their company during dinner at least, but he firmly refused to cook for himself. The elves were visibly relieved and it looked like they hoped that Ron will persuade his friends to eat the food they have cooked like everybody else. _Yeah, right._ Harry didn't trust the little blighters and had already started looking up basic property protection and anti-theft charms so that they wouldn't touch his things and his mistrust wasn't likely to recede in the near future. And Hermione, while being of the opposite opinion about the house elves, took to cooking for herself with vigour that she usually had while studying.

"Well, it went well," Ron said, fortunately without any food in his mouth. "I mean, Professor Lupin is pretty good from what we've seen."

Harry nodded and swallowed the fried beef, looking through this week's edition of 'Magical Markets' that was brought to him this morning.

"I agree. However, we should be wary for now. We had only one lesson with him so far, and it is not the time to lay rest to my doubts yet."

"When did you become so paranoid, Harry?" Hermione asked in exasperated voice. He lifted his eyes at her and shrugged.

"It's not paranoia if they are really out to get you. It's just plain common sense."

"Be that as it may, you weren't that suspicious last year, before…" she paused suddenly and after a moment continued slowly. "…Before the Chamber."

Harry swallowed painfully and started coughing. Ron reached across the table and vigorously hit his back.

"Thanks, Ron. Well, being in the centre of a plot that could cost a lot of people their lives could do that to a person."

Hermione looked rather green at the rebuke, remembering how closely she came to death, but let the matter drop.

Care for the Magical Creatures was… well, it was just as they thought it would be. Hagrid, **of course, **chose a rather dangerous creature for the first lesson, and talked about it as if it was an angel. Harry could admit that when he took off his glasses, it did resemble an angel, but considering the fact that he was nearly blind without his spectacles, it didn't say much.

Of course, he ended up flying the beast. Not that he was complaining – it was different from riding the broom, but great nevertheless.

And naturally, Draco Malfoy decided that he, as a Malfoy, is supposed to inspire great obedience from all the living creatures. Fortunately, he wasn't stupid enough to continue approaching Buckbeak (the hippogriff) when the eagle-horse snarled at him.

The first lesson of Ancient Runes that they had the next day slightly resembled the introductory Arithmancy class. Professor Babbling was very passionate about her subject, if slightly odd. During the first half an hour she insulted the intelligence of her students by saying that only a few in each generation had a true gift in Runes, and it was highly unlikely that they had such a person in this class, proceeded to tell them that they would write their OWLs and receive at the very least Exceed Expectations nevertheless (or else) and finally proceeded to talk about what Ancient Runes were really about.

According to her, what mattered about the Runes was their application in practical magic. Any kind of spell cast by wand, she said, was not permanent. Most times spells would un-weave in a span of hours or days. And when you need a much longer 'lifespan', Babbling proclaimed, you use runes.

"The thing with languages," she lectured, "is that the longer the time they are spoken, the more power there is behind the words. The more passion is conveyed though a word, the more it empowers it. Why do you think we use Latin words as a foundation for incantations? This language hasn't changed in any major way for a rather long time. Of course, there is Egyptian; that makes for powerful magic, or Sanskrit, incantations in which are disturbingly powerful, but we mostly use Latin and Greek for the reason that we instinctively understand what they mean – approximately - and that empowers our spells, shortening the lead Egyptian has. Of course, it is only a simple rule of thumb and the full mechanism is much more complex, but for now this explanation will do. Now, runes: The rules with written language are both different and the same – the more emotion people put in the words they write, the more power the symbols they use gain. And this power accumulates by generations! By the prediction of the Runemaster Guild, the Latin Alphabet will be considered runic in approximately 30 years given how many languages use it with little variation and therefore how many people write in it, despite the fact that it uses combinations of symbols to create words instead of creating separate symbols for different concepts."

Around the middle of that monologue Harry had an idea that just didn't leave his mind.

"Professor Babbling, if I may ask?" seeing her nod, he continued. "The question is not, per se, about runes, but about a thing you mentioned. You said that Sanskrit incantations were extremely powerful."

"Yes, but in order to use them to their full potential you would need to learn Sanskrit," Babbling was staring at him rather pointedly.

Harry nodded and continued.

"There is a language that may very well be older than Sanskrit that I know of and am able to speak. I wondered if…"

"Parseltongue? Well, I'm afraid I cannot help you much with that. I've read somewhere that it makes for rather powerful magic, but further than that..." she trailed off.

"I'll have to look it up. If I have the gift, I might as well use it," Harry said, shrugging sheepishly as the others in class looked at him warily. It seemed that all of Hogwarts, in a unanimous and unspoken way, decided to conveniently forget that he was a Parselmouth after the whole mess with the Chamber was over.

"Now, what was I talking about? Ah, so, the introduction to Runes…"

After the lesson ended Hermione was positively giddy. She just couldn't stop gushing about it the whole way to the kitchens.

"And we will need Runes NEWT for so many jobs! Anything that has a relation to enchanting or wards is based on Runes. Oh, did you hear what she said about the things runes could do?"

"Yeah, she said about brooms being enchanted," Ron said, yawning. Poor guy didn't like the lecture during the second half of the lesson much, saying only that it was extremely difficult to understand. Harry found it tolerable – if only because of Babbling's manner of teaching. She would explain something for ten minutes only to go off to a completely unrelated tangent and start rambling about some sort of highly complex theory that he thought to be Master level stuff.

"Right… I'm so looking forward to learning it, and…"

"Hermione," Harry said slowly and tiredly. "That was a difficult and long lesson, and I've got a headache. Please. No more gushing."

She looked at him in worry, but didn't ramble anymore.


	6. Back in Black

**Chapter updated: 30.09.14**

_Sirius entered the kitchen of the hotel suit to find a drink to calm his nerves from a close call. The scene he faced there, however, went a long way to sooth his nerves and putting a lecherous grin on his face._

_"Merlin almighty! Harry, you're making me proud!"_

_His proclamation was met with two "EEP"s and a startled roar:_

_"PADFOOT, GET OUTTA HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Back in Black**

* * *

The classes continued as usual. Herbology was just as mundane, Astronomy just as pointless and History just as boring as they were in the previous two years. Potions became much more tolerable because of Harry's new view of Snape – but not for long. As much as the boy hated the greasy git, even he had to grudgingly admit (when there was no chance anyone other than Ron and Hermione would hear him saying that) that the man was as sharp as goblin steel – it looked like he figured out exactly why the boys of the trio were sometimes smiling slightly during his lessons and his usual verbal abuse nearly tripled. Harry's temper, barely restrained in the past, just couldn't take the sheer amount of shit Snape spewed at him and as the result he often found himself **enjoying**his tender care during his many detentions. The only upside of the situation is that Harry learned to somewhat calm himself when Snape was in the immediate vicinity and baiting him as usual by tuning out the world as he used to do when Dudley and his gang would catch him in a game of 'Harry Hunting'. It would slightly mute the pain from the blows, and Harry learned that it was somewhat effective against Snape's taunting.

Defence against the Dark Arts continued to be flawlessly taught. None of Harry's fears were realized yet, which suited him and his friends just fine. The most pleasant surprise came when Lupin let it slip that he was a close friend of Harry's parents. The boy was damn near ecstatic to hear anything about them and Lupin gladly shared a great deal of stories about Lily and James.

Arithmancy was just as mentally exhausting as they thought. A lot of times Harry had to repeat the mantra 'Spell creation, custom magic' to hold himself from slacking and do the damn homework – professor Vector was a real taskmaster.

As was professor Babbling, apparently. Although Harry would gladly say that Runes homework was much more enjoyable – as most of it was drawing Rune atlases, which were essentially the personal reference sources for the whole course. Babbling even told them that those who pursue careers in the fields that apply Runes on a frequent basis use their school atlases all their lives, adding to them constantly. For some reason Harry liked writing in his atlas, making it as neat as possible, drawing the runes as precisely as he could. He even looked up spells to make the writing better. The sight of his usual nearly incomprehensible scrawls transforming into neat lines was very satisfying, and when he showed the spell to Hermione she **squealed****. **Obviously, later on she would deny it.

Professor Babbling, while an absolute genius was obviously not completely there. Often she would go on a different tangent right in the middle of the lesson, sometimes explaining things about how the subject of that particular class could be used to improve some or other charm or transfiguration and other times muttering to herself about materiel that Hermione suspected to be Mastery level. But Harry didn't mind – she was a brilliant teacher and her explanations (when they **were** understandable) were eye-opening, not to mention full of witty remarks. Her other quirk was that she never called a person by his name, only using nicknames. For example, she called Hermione ' "Curly", which aggravated the girl something fierce. Ron was "Gangly" while Harry was "Green Eyes" – a tolerable nickname all-in-all.

One day, Hermione dragged Harry and Ron to a deserted classroom.

"Harry," she said seriously. "I want you to try casting spells in Parseltongue."

"What? Now?" Harry looked at her, bemused.

"Yes. I've searched the library on the subject and there were some clues that Parselmouths were all very strong wizards. It won't hurt, will it?" Harry gulped slightly – Hermione had that glint in her eyes that reminded him of Wood when he was speaking about Quidditch. _That girl and her curiosity..._

The boy shrugged and took his wand out. His first impulse was to try and say the Latin spells in Parseltongue, but he quickly understood the stupidity in the idea of just hissing the usual spells. Then he tried to simply say different words such as _Open, Light,_etc. He had little success right until Hermione reminded him that the spells required intent to work. After that... well.

Harry said "_Light_" while concentrating on a picture of a small orb of luminescence appearing on the end of his wand. He got a feeling that something was very wrong when he felt burning in his right hand that was clutching his wand.

The burning spread to his shoulder and upper chest and quickly grew unbearable. Harry grunted and tried to drop his wand, but the stick of holly was stuck to his hand. In five seconds after he attempted to do the spell he couldn't hold in a whimper of pain.

The burning in his arm flared and suddenly vanished. Harry gasped in relief, but then he had to shield his eyes with a hiss when the whole classroom was bathed in brilliant light.

When the light subsided, Hermione ran to the fallen figure of her friend and quickly checked up his condition.

"Is he all right?" Ron asked worriedly, kneeling near them. The girl bit her lip, looking at the small trickle of blood coming from Harry's right nostril.

"I don't know! This was not supposed to happen... Let's get him to Madam Pomfrey, quickly!"

Five minutes later saw them levitating Harry's unconscious form through the Hospital wing's door.

"Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione called, carefully dropping Harry on the closest bed. A racket was heard from the matron's office and it opened, showing an irate matron, carrying a huge box.

"What? What did you all do to yourselves this time?" she asked grumpily, carefully placing the box on the floor with a soft clanking indicating the potions inside.

"It's Harry. We were trying to figure out if he could cast in Parseltongue and he just collapsed!" Hermione said in a slight panic. Pomfrey growled slightly, walking to the bed and drawing her wand.

"Kids these days, experimenting with ancient languages, in your third year, no less! It's a wonder I still have not gone grey..."

She started to mutter spells under her breath. After verifying something, she nodded to herself and went to the closest potion cabinet. She grabbed a bottle of murky brown liquid and shook Harry awake.

"Wha..." that was as far as Harry got before Pomfrey showed a large spoon of the potion down his throat. The boy gulped it down obediently and started coughing.

"Each time I wonder," he wheezed, "If potions could get any nastier. Each time you prove that they, in fact, can. Would it kill you to make them neutral-tasting?"

Pomfrey scoffed and put the potion in the shelf.

"Would it kill you to keep yourself out of my wing?" she asked dryly. Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"Touché."

"You have managed to harm your circulatory system, a rather common symptom of magical overload. You shouldn't have tried to channel that much magic, it's rather surprising how little damage there is!" Pomfrey harrumphed. "You have gotten away with a little scare, so don't go and experiment with such things at least until you are of age!"

Harry nodded and flexed his arm carefully.

"Very well. For how long am I to stay here?"

"I should hold you here for a week for this stunt, but you will probably escape on the second day so I won't even bother. Begone with you, shoo!" she waved at him and walked away. Harry looked at her, bewildered, then shook his head and decided not to question his good luck.

Soon after that, the trio was writing an essay for McGonagall. The transfiguration theory that they were learning wasn't very hard – a damn lot of it was just common sense – but the sheer amount of what they needed to memorize was sometimes overwhelming. Very soon after the year started they learned to hate the small differences between inanimate-to-animate transfigurations, which made the most of what they were expected to learn. Fortunately, the other teachers were giving slightly less homework than usual.

It was this little mercy that allowed Harry to practice Quidditch – even though it wasn't with the team. In the beginning of the term Wood and Harry bashed heads over the latter's complete refusal to wake up obscenely early Sunday morning to practice after a late night of doing Runes homework. Long story short, Harry managed to persuade Wood to let him practice in his own time because of the usual lack of interaction between the Seeker and the rest of the team during the game. Sometimes he would go to the pitch just as the five disgruntled, tired students and Wood (who somehow was still energetic) were leaving it. The team would give him loathing glances of betrayal and comment on how they had to wake up in four hours in bloody morning and train in cold and/or rain while Harry had his beauty sleep. He didn't take offence – they said it without any substantial heat, just to whine a bit and discharge some of the stress, so he wasn't particularly opposed – there was no harm in letting the his teammates grumble.

The time until the first match of the year – which was between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff – flew right past them, and before Harry knew it, he stood beside Wood on the Quidditch pitch and was melancholically pondering just how many Pepper-up potions Pomfrey would have to administer when half the school inevitably came down with a severe cold.

"Well, we'll just have to prove that we can fly despite the weather," he heard Wood mumble and looked at him in abject horror and resignation.

"Ollie, please tell me you don't actually plan to play in this weather. I mean, really, it's past the cats and dogs phase, it's already raining cows and bears!"

"Gryffindor will never forfeit while I'm the captain!" Oliver called back. In his eyes danced the familiar sparks of maniacal determination. Harry sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and mumbled:

"Mutiny starts to sound really good…"

His gut told him that it wouldn't end well.

**Two hours later**

"Harry? You okay?"

The boy groaned and tried to open his eyes. _Wait bad idea__._ He shut them again with a hiss of pain and croaked:

"Somebody dim the freaking lights!"

There was a rustle and he felt the lighting dimming and becoming tolerable.

"Water," he managed to say. A cup materialized near his mouth and he immediately emptied it. After that Harry squinted at his surroundings: _Hospital wing. Why, oh why am I not surprised?_

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

"Feeling like someone stole my muscles and put a lot of jelly inside me instead," he mumbled irritably, scratching his head. "Now, I'm blind as a mole, and only see some bunches of colour that talk to me in kind voices, so could somebody give me my blasted glasses? Thank you," he took the offered spectacles and immediately put them on.

The spots on sticks around him came to focus, and he found myself in company of Ron, Hermione and the Gryffindor Quidditch team bar Oliver.

"Where's Ollie? And what happened to the game?"

The twins winced at the same time.

"Well, after Dumbledore caught you when you fell and somehow banished all of the dementors, it appeared that Diggory caught the Snitch," Alicia said apologetically.

"Dementors. Damn, now I remember. How and why did they get here?"

Inwardly, he was caught between seething at his weakness and shuddering in remembrance. Outwardly, he was just very grumpy.

"No one knows. If you ask me, they felt they could have a good ol' British breakfast," Fred smiled in dark humour.

"Nevertheless, we lost 210 to 170," George shrugged, "And Ollie currently is trying to drown himself in the showers,"

Harry shook his head._Trust Oliver to try something that drastic when Quidditch doesn't go as planned._

"Well, tell him that it was the sole time I didn't get the Snitch, soul-sucking demons or not," he said firmly. Twins grinned and shared a look.

"Gryffindors don't die…"

"We go to hell to regroup," Harry finished, grinning weakly. He sighed and cracked his neck.

"Ah. Damn. Who has my Nimbus?"

"Erm… Harry? Your broom… well…" Hermione stammered. He looked at her.

"Yes? What is it?"

"It crashed into the Whomping Willow, and… you see," she sighed and pointed to a bundle of twigs in the corner of the room. The boy looked at it and did a double-take, feeling a sharp pain in his heart. His Nimbus 2000, his broom, was absolutely destroyed. He shakily rose from his bed to look closer – pointless, really, but he felt that for some reason he had to do it.

Unfortunately, madam Pomfrey chose that exact moment to come bustling to his bed, shoo his friends and tell the boy in no uncertain terms that he had to remain in bed for another day. Harry knew that resistance would be futile and resigned himself to being bored out of his mind for more than 24 hours.

"So, you want to learn the spell that adult Aurors are struggling with?" Lupin asked, with raised eyebrows. Harry nodded jerkily, and the professor sighed.

"Harry, I commend you for your determination, but we are talking about a spell far out of your league."

Harry gave him a hard look.

"Please, professor. If you will not teach me, I will study it on my own, which will probably double the time I need to learn it. I **want**to learn it, and I**will.**"

After a long pause Lupin said:

"Very well, Harry, you have proven your point. Come here at five on Tuesday for your first lesson," he smiled with a slightly nostalgic look on his face, "Lily would be so pleased that you try to learn as much as you can."

Harry couldn't help but smile at the mention of his mother. However, he quickly sobered.

"It is not learning for learning's sake, I'm not a Ravenclaw by any means. I simply need to know how to deal with the dementors. Otherwise I wouldn't touch such a high-level spell with a ten-meter pole – I'm not nearly as arrogant as Snape portrays me, you know."

On this, the boy left the chuckling teacher alone.

The next weeks proved themselves even more frantic than before. On the top of the regular homework, which slowly grew to the size that slightly scared Harry and depressed Ron, Harry had the Patronus training with Lupin. The spell proved to be extremely difficult – even more so than he had thought previously. Whatever he did, he just couldn't do anything better than small wisps of silver mist, and it took him eight hours of practice to get even there! Lupin commented that he needed a powerful happy memory to do the charm, but Harry didn't have any memories of even remotely happy moments that he hadn't tried already.

When he looked up the books on Patronus charm in the library, he found out the requirement was not a happy memory – the emotion itself was. The memory was needed to create the emotion, and so it had to be strong enough to make a person happy just by remembering it. The charm creates a guardian against darkness, its power is given to it by emotion the caster felt, and its form is a representation of what or whom the caster trusts to defend him. Harry briefly wondered what his Patronus would look like. _Whom do I trust? Who I believe can protect me? Dumbledore, maybe? If so, what would the animalistic representation of the quirky headmaster be? _Harry snorted at the memory of someone from Slytherin calling Dumbledore an "old goat".

Nevertheless, after a long session of soul-searching, Harry had to admit to himself that he didn't have any memories that were powerful enough. His upbringing with Dursleys wasn't exactly a thing he would remember fondly, and any memories of his time at Hogwarts either weren't powerful enough, or was tainted by a close brush with death. However, the boy believed that he could compensate for the lack of emotion with the power he put into the spell. That caused a lot of trouble with Hermione – she would put up a fuss every time Harry returned to the Gryffindor tower completely and utterly exhausted and barely able to move after his study sessions with Lupin. Despite this, he knew he had to continue training – and his method proved to be at least partially effective, when the silvery wisps started to intensify and become a _Protego_-like shield, which, from Lupin's words, was the most powerful form of non-corporeal Patronus. After a couple of seconds of though, he added that during one of the skirmishes during the Blood War he saw a Patronus cast by Dumbledore that appeared to be a wave of power that crashed into the dementor ranks, immediately forcing them into panicked retreat. That seemed to be a Patronus of third level of power.

Meanwhile, Black had somehow managed to enter the castle and had attempted to get into the Gryffindor common room while the Halloween feast was underway. When the Fat Lady refused him entry, he slashed her portrait, scaring her half to death, if that phrase can be used when talking about a painting. She refused to guard Gryffindor tower while Black was still on the loose, and so the Gryffindors had to put up with her successor – one Sir Cadogan. The knight was irritating on a good day and positively intolerable on a bad one. The sheer stupidity of the things he spouted was astounding.

On the fine evening of the first of December Harry was pacing in his dorm like a caged lion, trying to breathe deeply and stay calm. For the whole day it seemed as if the whole sodding castle decided to irritate him as much as possible – Malfoy muttered obscenities at his back, Ron ate as disgustingly as he could, Hermione was bossier than usual, Cadogan didn't open the damn portrait for five minutes despite them saying the password, much preferring to lecture Harry on the knight's honour (he stopped when Harry, being at the end of his admittedly short patience, threatened him to permanently vanish his "honour" if he didn't open **right now**). In addition, upon entering the trio were immediately approached by Colin Creevey, who wished to take a couple of photos. Harry usually tried to tolerate the guy – the boy's obvious crush on him was creepy as hell, but Colin was relatively harmless. Today, though, he just couldn't hold it in and told Colin in no uncertain terms that "I **don't**do photos and if you ask me one more time I will stuff your blasted camera up your arse and heat it up beforehand so that you wouldn't enjoy it". Then he stormed up to his dorm to try to calm down, ignoring everyone in the common room.

After Harry chilled out somewhat, he decided to go and take a long shower, hoping that hot water would help. It did, and he was soaking there for a long time – he even nodded off while standing for half an hour. After waking up he thought that enough was enough and went to bed. He walked to the door of his dorm, not paying any mind to the fact that it was open (it was never open).

Harry entered, yawning, and paused a couple of steps in with his mouth still open, staring at the back of an unknown person standing right next to Ron's bed.

"Who're you?"

The person whirled around, showing to Harry the face that he saw in the newspapers.

Sirius Black.

For an infinitely long moment the boy and the convict stared at each other. Then Black snarled and lunged at Harry. The boy jumped to the side with a yelp and fell on the floor near Neville's bed.

However, it seemed that Black didn't want to eviscerate Harry, as the boy thought, but just to leave. He paused to open the half-closed door, and Harry seized the moment to throw the first thing that he could grab at the man, namely, an empty pot that was all that was left after a long-term experiment of Neville went wrong. The plant he had been grooming for about a year grew up, became purple, and after an introduction to a magical fertilizer of some kind, started to produce greenish fumes that made people woozy. Obviously, Neville had to get rid of it, but the pot still remained in the dorm for some reason.

Nevertheless, the man ran out of the dorm room with the pot rapidly gaining on him. A 'thunk' and a string of loud curses that quickly lost volume told Harry that he managed to score a hit, not that it managed to do any good. The boy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at the sound of the sleepy grumbles of his dorm-mates, who were woken up by the racket.

"What… Who was that? Harry?" Ron was still rubbing his eyes and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Harry's cold reply, however, immediately woke him up.

"Black. It was Black."

As he was lying in the Great Hall, Harry thoughtfully stared at the ceiling that showed the cloudy night sky._How was Black even able to enter the castle? The portrait was explained – poor Nev normally couldn't remember the passwords, and that was before Cadogan came along changing them frequently and without warning. So he had somehow managed to convince the mad portrait to give him a list of the passwords for the week. And Black had somehow managed to get his hands on that list._

_But how did he get to the portrait?!_

Harry turned to the right and stared at the snoozing silhouette that was Ron.

_Theory number one: there was a secret tunnel. An entrance that was unknown to the staff and therefore unguarded. Knowing what I know about Black, it is possible. Lupin let it slip that the Marauders knew the school better than anyone. Maybe Black had found an entrance he never told his friends about?_

_Theory number two: hiding in plain sight. I'm not sure if he has a wand, but surely there must be charms that would allow him to enter the castle without anyone the wiser – he could transfigure himself into something and let a student bring him to school from Hogsmeade… or use an illusion of some sort._

Harry winced at a particularly loud snore and turned to the other side.

_Theory number three: a mole. He may have an ally inside the castle. Lupin, maybe? No, he's too obvious. But maybe he plays on it – no one would suspect the most suspicious, after all. But then, maybe not… Argh, nothing is certain…_

He couldn't fall asleep until long after that, and his sleep was troubled.

The next day, he was on his way from Arithmancy, Hermione and Ron walking beside him and arguing over his head about something that he frankly didn't even bother to listen to – just tuned them out from the very beginning. Harry believed Ron started this particular row by asking the question he asked after every other class:

"Why did I pick Arithmancy?"

Of course, Hermione took offence to that, as she always did. In his moments of weakness Harry silently agreed with Ron, and seeing that he was currently nursing a headache it certainly qualified as such.

"Hey, Potter!"

The migraine has just increased. Malfoy didn't bother the trio overly much after the confrontation on train. Figures that he had to do it when Harry was cranky.

"What is it, Malfoy? I'm not in any mood to talk to you, not that there**is**any mood for it," the boy said, ruffling his hair and rubbing his forehead discreetly. Malfoy smirked.

"Well, I wondered what were you thinking about Black and if you wanted to get revenge on him."

Harry looked at him as if he had grown another head. If the blonde wanted to bait him, it either was a miscalculated attempt, or a particularly well planned one with a punchline that wasn't said yet.

"Why do you care for my thoughts on that particular matter?" Harry asked, consciously ignoring the second part of the question, which was more likely to be bait. Malfoy slightly paused.

"You **do **know what he did, don't you?" he asked and looked at him searchingly. Harry raised his eyebrow. This was quickly becoming the most civil conversation they had since the first meeting in Diagon Alley.

"If by 'what he did' you mean 'betrayed my parents and me to Voldemort'," everybody flinched. Crabbe and Goyle looked particularly ridiculous, "…then yes, I do know."

Harry belatedly realized that he had never come around to telling his friends about this little curious fact. Hermione looked at him in horror for a couple of seconds, after which her expression changed to one that meant 'We will talk about this'. Ron, predictably, had the face that usually substituted 'Blimey, mate'. Malfoy looked as if Harry knocked the floor from under him.

"Yes, well… so don't you want revenge?" he continued after gathering his wits. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't – it doesn't really matter."

"How so, Potter? Decided to hide behind Dumbledore? Or is it the dementors that you put your trust upon? Well, probably not them – we all know that you can't handle being near one!"

_Ouch. That one hit the mark__._ Even slightly off-balance Malfoy was able to dish out insults that would make a saint go berserk. Harry, however, was no saint.

"Do you love your mother, Malfoy?" Harry asked, seemingly out of the blue. The blond blinked at the non-sequitur.

"What out of it?" He asked, tone guarded. Harry stepped closer to him.

"Imagine her, right now. Does she love you? Has she ever told you about it?" He made another step. "Has she ever told you that she would shield you from harm? That she would sacrifice her life in an instant if it meant that you would live on?" another step had him snarling the next words right into Malfoy's confused face. "Imagine **right now** seeing and hearing her doing **exactly that**!"

Malfoy stepped away, visibly disturbed. A couple of seconds later, however, he managed to collect himself and sneered at Harry.

"Why, so you see your pathetic Mudblood mo…"

On that, Harry punched him in the face.

Hard.

Hearing and feeling his nose break did bring him satisfaction, but it was brief, because Crabbe and Goyle, reacting faster than Harry ever thought they would be able to, punched him next.

Very hard.

He landed on his arse, choking and barely restraining bile from escaping. Harry didn't see stars, but he was pretty sure he was seeing a lot of tiny Hermiones. The hundred little versions of his best friend quickly assembled into one much bigger with worry on her face.

"Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

"Fine," he croaked and attempted to stand up. He managed, but barely, wincing at the protesting abs and chest. As he was forcing himself to stand upright, he discreetly wiped off the tears off his eyes._Note to self: punches in the gut still hurt as hell. Nothing new, though._ Harry glanced in the direction of the three Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle both were lying on the floor in stiff poses that clearly told him that both were hit with _Petrificus Totalus._

_It seems the apes hit me harder than I thought if I didn't hear the spells._ Draco was holding his obviously broken nose and glaring daggers at the trio. His wand was in his right hand, but he did not bring it up, for Ron's and Hermione's were raised and pointed at him.

"Pafetic, Pother," Malfoy said. "Phightin' like a Muggle"

Harry breathed in and out. _Damn, it hurts. I didn't feel the ribs crack, so it must be tissue damage. Maybe I should visit Pomfrey. Now, though, there is a certain snake that desperately needs a lesson on when to keep his trap shut._

"Listen, gah, Malfoy, you should learn that there are things that it is not a good idea to make fun of or call names. It surprises me that you are ignorant of that particular unwritten law."

_There. Insult his knowledge of social norms and customs. _Seeing how all purebloods of that political block seemed to give a lot of attention to manners in their upbringing, it was sure to strike the mark.

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort but he never got the chance.

"What, exactly, is going on here?"

Harry barely managed to withhold a groan. Out of all the teachers…

"Pfofessor Snaphe! Pother athacked me!" Malfoy didn't hesitate to whine. The attacker in question looked at him, lifting his eyebrow in a sardonic manner.

"Remember what I told you on the train? What – if not daddy, then Snape?"

"That would be twenty points from Gryffindor for disrespect," Snape said, sneering at him as Malfoy glared in answer. "What happened here, mister Malfoy?"

"Pother hit me. Then Gwanger and Weasley pethrified Crabbe and Goyle. It was an assault!"

The whining really was getting to Harry. He lost control of his temper – again.

"You asked for it! No one insults my mother!"

"Assault, mister Malfoy?" Snape asked in a silky tone. Harry glanced at him. He only ever used this voice when speaking to Gryffindors – Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville in particular. The softer Snape's voice is, the deeper in shit you are – a widely known fact. "And what provoked this assault, dare I ask?"

Either Malfoy didn't notice the change of intonation, or the thought that Snape could punish him didn't enter his thick skull.

"Oh, I just made a commenth on hith fear of dementorth," he said off-hand. If Harry wasn't as mad as he was, he would stare at the blond shit incredulously.

"You called. My mother. **A Mudblood.**"

The last words were growled. As in, really growled.

Snape's face went even paler than usual – no small feat by any means. Absently, he dispelled the charms on Crabbe and Goyle and healed Malfoy's nose with a quick_Episkey._

"Detention with Filch for you three. Mister Crabbe, mister Goyle – go to your common room. Mister Malfoy, follow me."

With that the greasy git turned on his heel sharply and went to his dungeon. Draco followed him, grumbling something under his breath.

"Well, that was interesting," Harry muttered, rubbing his bruised ribs. "Snape looked like he was going to lecture Malfoy for insulting us. Somebody check the temperature in hell."

"More like he was going to tell him off for being punched. Then the slimy bastard would congratulate him for managing to get under your skin and teach him a couple of new and exciting ways to do it," Ron said, shaking his head. Hermione glared at him, but held the usual admonishment for crass language.

"Harry, you need to go to Madam Pomfrey. That looked like it hurt."

"Nothing I can't handle. I'm fine, Hermione."

"No, you're not! I saw you wincing. With your pain tolerance, that was surely something more than a bruise!"

"It is a pretty bad bruise, but nothing more. Pomfrey isn't needed."

"I don't..."

Hermione pointed her wand at Harry's nose. The boy looked at the tip warily.

"You will go to the Hospital wing **now****, **or so help me I will petrify you and levitate you myself. Ron, support me!"

The redhead looked at her, at Harry, and shrugged.

"I'm with her, mate. You should at least check it out, just in case."

"Traitor."

"Hey, with your luck you probably cracked a rib. I'm helping you here!"

Harry glared at both of them, but shortly sighed.

"Fine. Lead on, oh wise Overseers."

**Ten minutes later**

"What? Again?!"

Madam Pomfrey was not amused.

"No, it was Malfoy this time," Harry answered tiredly, sitting at the closest bed carefully, so as not to aggravate the bruise more than it was needed.

"Crabbe and Goyle, more accurately," Hermione corrected.

"It is always something new with you, Mr. Potter. What next – a dragon's bite?" Madam Pomfrey paused mid-stride with a tube of bruise paste in her hand. "Wait, forget I said anything."

"That would be Ron's prerogative," Harry grinned weakly. "He got that already, lucky sod."

"You got me beat there with the basilisk," Ron retorted, scratching his arm, where the said dragon bite mark (courtesy of Norbert) was placed. "And don't forget the scar on your forehead."

"Boys," Hermione rolled her eyes. Madam Pomfrey smiled sweetly.

"Well, if you are so intent at gathering disfigurements, maybe I shouldn't heal the bruise?"

Harry just looked at her plainly.

After one History of Magic with Slytherins in the middle of December Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron (both still yawning) and pulled them forward.

"Come on, sleepy-heads. You have five essays to write!"

That statement had the effect of a gallon of ice-cold water dumped on their heads.

"What?! No, I would swear that we had only two for this week!" Ron boggled at her. Harry didn't say anything, only making a resigned face.

"Well, yes, plus the two that are due in a month and that Herbology essay that we have to write until the next Thursday"

"Well, then we will write it later. Don't scare me like that, Hermione. Five essays..." Ron shook his head as if trying to ward off a nightmarish thought. Which, for him and Harry to a lesser extent, it was.

"You had enough rest during History. Now it is time to work!" Hermione told him in a sing-song tone.

"Not our fault – I just don't get how in the world Binns can describe the most heroic battles of all time with such enthusiasm as to induce catatonia," Harry grumbled, massaging his shoulder.

The girl opened her mouth to answer that, but heard a commotion from the corridor leading to the dungeons. Judging by his quickened pace, Harry heard it as well. The thing about castles is that sounds spread **really **well.

Before the trio rounded the corner leading to the corridor in question, Hermione heard a girl's voice spitting something about "being as loony as a name suggests". When they came closer to the sound of someone arguing they saw a girl – second or first year, judging by her height – sitting by the wall with a bloody lip, another girl standing in front of her and staring at her with contempt and a gaggle of Ravenclaw second (or first) years aside of them, watching the scene either approvingly or dispassionately.

"What, exactly, is going on here?" Harry asked, echoing Snape's earlier question. The small crowd started murmuring amongst themselves, throwing interested glances at Harry. The standing girl answered, not looking from the vacant expression on the other girl's face:

"None of your business."

"Why did you hit her?" Hermione asked, looking at the bleeding girl with worry. Harry did a double-take, having not noticed the blood.

"Again, none of your business," the girl shrugged and, after glancing at the trio with an uninterested look, walked away. The Ravenclaws that were standing nearby grumbled and left as well. The girl on the floor rose shakily and picked up her bag.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. She looked at him and shrugged. _Were those _**_radishes_**_ in her ears?_

"You are Harry Potter," the girl stated. Harry's brow rose a bit.

"Evidently. And you are...?"

"Luna Lovegood," was the answer. The girl – Luna – tilted her head to the side and watched Harry as if he was an interesting specimen of some sort of magical animal. Harry looked a bit off-balance. He coughed.

"Right... So, what did she hit you for?"

"She said I was weird. Wrackspurt infestation makes people do strange things," she answered airily and before Harry could ask her anything else, she skipped off, whistling merrily.

"Wrackspurt?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "Is it some kind of mind-controlling magical bacteria?"

Ron scoffed.

"Don't think about it much. I recognize her – she's a neighbour of ours. Her father owns a newspaper – don't remember the name – that writes nonsense about imagined animals and conspiracy theories. Ginny played with her in childhood. They especially loved to play 'Marrying Harry Potter', if I recall correctly..."

"Too much information, mate."


	7. The Second Coming

**Chapter updated: 30.09.14**

_"Hermione, remind me, why did I think it was a good idea?" Harry muttered, wincing at the sharp odour in the room and casually gesturing with his sceptre to get rid of all signs of their presence._

_"We need money, and they are criminals."_

_"Ah, right."_

_Hermione looked around with narrowed eyes, checking for anything that could lead authorities to uncomfortable conclusions. She gasped in outrage when she saw the condition of the mafia boss._

_"Harry! Get rid of this!"_

_"Oh, but I think it suits him," they turned to a sound of a police siren. "Guess our time's up. Come on, let's hit the banks before they wake up."_

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Second Coming**

* * *

The Christmas and Christmas holidays came, and all the students welcomed the break. Well, aside from some truly hardcore Ravenclaws. Even Hermione was rather glad to have a pause in her unending crusade for knowledge.

Christmas Day itself was the same as it was in last two years, differing only in the amount of presents that Harry received: besides the usual Chocolate Frogs and a broom servicing kit from Ron, "Advanced Arithmancy made easy" from Hermione and a jumper from Mrs. Weasley, he received a book on Human Transfiguration and a huge treacle tart from McGonagall and the Snitch he caught in his first game in Hogwarts from Dumbledore.

But the clincher was the Firebolt.

Someone who wanted to remain anonymous sent Harry the best and the most expensive broom in existence.

Naturally, both him and Hermione thought it to be suspicious and asked professor McGonagall to make sure it wasn't hexed. She told them that she would return it in a month.

"What?" Harry goggled at her. "What could take so much time? I need it, I have to train!"

She glared at him.

"The process of analysing an enchanted object is extremely hard and lengthy, Mr. Potter," _Damn. Last name terms again? What did I do?_"I don't like it any more than you do."

"Is it about my Christmas present? I didn't mean any disrespect..." he trailed off. McGonagall continued to glare at him for the next five seconds, after which she sighed and shook her head slightly.

"Tell me at least how you knew..."

"The label? It was the same as the bottle that stood half-empty in my room in the first day I spent in your house, you know, under the Notice-Me-Not charm," he smiled at her innocently. She looked at him with widened eyes. "What? If I wear glasses, I can as well charm them with magic detection, right?"

She sighed again and looked at him with fond exasperation.

"Very well, Harry, I'll try and push for a faster analysis. I don't want to lose the Quidditch cup. Merlin knows Severus would be absolutely insufferable if I do."

Ron didn't speak to Harry and Hermione for two days, unable to forgive the disrespect to the greatest broom in the world. Sure, he wasn't malicious – he just made sure to goggle at them constantly to convey his disbelief at their actions, and half-jokingly loudly whisper faux-insults about the 'no-good broom haters' and 'paranoid sacrilegers' or even 'twig bigots'. He came around, of course – obviously, the only reason good enough to sully himself by talking to the 'lowly broom dismantlers' was Arithmancy homework.

_Lazy arse._

The Firebolt was returned to Harry two weeks after the holiday's end with assurances that it wasn't tampered with. He got it back just in time to beat Slytherin. The look on Malfoy's face when he grabbed the Snitch right from under his nose was priceless!

His Patronus, on the other hand, wasn't progressing as fast as he thought it would; the lack of happiness required to cast the spell was a giant roadblock. All he could do for now was a solid-looking _Protego_-like shield. Lupin was at a loss and halfway into February the professor decided that they did all they could.

"Harry, you have done everything right. Your problem is the same as most Aurors': you don't have the memories to fuel a corporeal Patronus. I've already taught you everything you need. The rest is up to you."

That night Harry was tossing and turning, thinking about ways to compensate for a lack of positive emotions. He couldn't just give up and settle for a mediocre shield. He needed a corporeal guardian, at the very least! Harry didn't know if he would be able to use the giant wave-like Patronus that Lupin described seeing Dumbledore cast at all, but he'd be damned if he didn't reach the corporeal stage! But how could he do it?

It was in the morning that he found the solution.

He stood in the Restricted section of the library under the invisibility cloak and shuffled the pages of the book he read last year: "The Magicked Mind".

"'Occlumency can be used to quell one's emotions as well as control them to a certain degree: one can shift from anger to calm, from fear to tranquillity and from sadness to happiness at will by utilizing it'. Yes! There it is!... Oh, wait."

"'Unfortunately, due to the hormonal instability that puberty brings, it is impossible to master before one's magical maturity'. Well, damn."

That was a dead end... or was it?

Just out of stubbornness, he decided that he had to at least read the book about basic Occlumency to see for himself if it is impossible to learn. Following a reference in the end of the chapter, he found a tome "Mind Protection for the Simpleton" in the far corner of the Restricted Section that housed an obscene amount of dust. Glancing around, he proceeded to read.

In the four days it took to read the tome (Harry still had to study and sneaking into library took more time that he would like it to take) he got the gist of what was needed. To his shock, he had already got the basics of Occlumency down. It was the blank feeling of detachment that Harry would describe as 'tuning out reality'. He instinctively maintained it during Potions so as not to snap at Snape. That was the first stage of emotion control, mastering which was the foundation of learning Occlumency. From what he had gathered, the hormonal turmoil wouldn't let him learn anything more than basic control over his emotions in the near future, but he hoped it would be enough.

Since that day, Harry spent at least half an hour daily trying to shift between different emotions at will. He met only limited success, but it was enough for him to be optimistic.

In the meantime, not all was well in the state of Potterland; Hermione and Ron were in a huge row because Scabbers vanished without a trace; well, other than a little bit of blood and some ginger hair under Ron's bed. Naturally, Ron thought that it was Crookshanks who ate the rat; Hermione, on the other hand, vehemently argued that her cat didn't touch the other pet. The result was that both of Harry's friends stopped talking to each other. As Ron was now in a state of constant sulking, Harry told him to sort himself out and cut the pity-party and proceeded to hang out with Hermione. Harry knew it was rather cold, but, he had no wish to be caught in the rat debacle and suffer. Besides, it was the only rational choice in the matter. It wasn't like he could choose Ron's side – Hermione was the one he always ate with, and he had absolutely no wish to make his dinners miserable. On the other hand, if he tried to sit on the fence, Harry would have to listen to both of them whining to him about the other. _No thank you._

Fortunately, Ron wasn't ready to leave his friends alone and by the end of February he apologized to Hermione for being a prat (and initiated another small argument about who should feel sorrier) and the Golden Trio was together once more.

The coming of spring brought a lot of... excitement for Harry. The reason for it was his second meeting with one Sirius Black.

On the sunny day of 5th March Harry was flying rings around the Quidditch pitch during the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor game – as Ravenclaw trounced Hufflepuff in the middle of February, the result of this game would decide just who would have the Cup.

The game so far went in the lions' favour. 150 to 70 – a nice score for the twenty's minute of the game. The Ravenclaw Seeker – Cho Chang – was currently tailing Harry and did everything she could to not let him look for the Snitch in piece.

A viable tactic; the girl was smart. _Not to mention quite easy on the eyes._ Harry shook that thought off and looked around, hoping to see the damn golden ball. In the next second he did a barrel roll, barely in time to evade a bludger.

It was five minutes later that Harry saw the Snitch innocently flying in the bottom of the pitch. He immediately banked, rolled and dived to it with maximum speed he could get from the Firebolt. He didn't hear Chang following him hot in his heels, but he knew that she did. Fortunately, her broom was massively outclassed.

In that moment, Harry heard someone screaming on his left and glanced to that side.

_Dementors. Only four of them, fortunately._

He immediately blanked his emotions and focused his attention on the Snitch. _Dementors or not, I would not let someone beat me to the Snitch a second time!_

Ten meters. Five. He reached out with his right arm. One meter. The Snitch, feeling him approach, tried to climb higher, dodging him, but it was too late for that. Harry grabbed the winged sphere and got out of the dive. He looked to the point where he had seen the dementors previously and saw them scattered and running from a brilliant white phoenix. _Wait a second. Running?_

Harry narrowed his eyes, looking at the fleeting figures. _Dementors glide, they don't run. And certainly they don't stumble and fall, obstructed by their cloaks. It seems that someone decided on sabotage by donning dementor-ish cloaks and coming to the match._

Harry flew closer to them and, taking his wand out, sent a spell at the figure running at the head. The mild stinging hex caught him in the leg and he went down with a loud curse.

The other two tried to help the downed co-conspirators, but the time needed for that was denied to them. Professor McGonagall arrived at the scene. A few moments later, Harry was enjoying the sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Flint being chewed out and assigned a month of detention with Filch each.

The mood in the aftermath of the victory was high. The team was shining with glee at the finally won Cup, and Wood was crying. Actually **crying **tears of manly pride. Harry could not decide if that was more touching or disturbing. As it was Oliver's last year in Hogwarts and he was already set on going pro after graduation, Harry went with "touching".

The trio was walking to school, discussing the game or (in Hermione's case) ranting about Malfoy's foul play.

"Mione, he's a Malfoy – foul play is his middle name," Ron joked. Harry nodded seriously, glancing at the Whomping willow that they were currently passing.

"Yeah, it's kind of funny... Ron, behind you!" he shouted, reaching for his wand. A huge black dog was running straight at them, and if the look in its eyes was a clue, its intention was not to cuddle and ask for a treat.

"What the..." Harry was too slow. The dog bowled past him, sending him to the ground. Then it bit Ron's leg and unceremoniously started to drag him to the willow. Both Harry and Hermione tried to outrun it, but the beast was surprisingly fast and always kept Ron between them and it, so they wouldn't dare use magic. Finally, it came closer to the Willow, and the homicidal tree – to Harry's great surprise – didn't react to it. In fact, it acted as if it was paralysed. The dog and Ron vanished from view in a tunnel underneath the Willow, while Harry remained where he stood, cautiously watching the Willow. It didn't give any signs of life.

Harry breathed in and out, and ever so slowly, edged to the tunnel. The tree remained still. He glanced towards Hermione; she nodded. Harry threw to the wind all the notions of being careful and quickly entered the gaping hole.

"_Lumos."_

The tunnel was rather dry; judging by the ground, it was well-used._Strange. It seems that I have found another secret entrance to the grounds; but who used it? Black?_ On this thought Harry tightened his grip on the wand and quickened his pace. Hermione was walking a couple of steps behind him.

It took forever to reach the end of the tunnel. Finally, they found themselves in a... dwelling. A really shabby house with signs of damage everywhere they could see. There were large dents in the walls showing that something or someone crashed into it with great force; a door of a shelf was nearly torn away, hanging on a single bolt; there were long and deep gashes on the floor showing that a large animal with **very **sharp claws was here. When Harry thought about it, they were heading underground towards the Hogsmeade. That meant...

"Shrieking Shack," he said quietly. "We're in the Shrieking Shack."

In the dim light of his wand he could see Hermione pale. Harry smiled at her in reassurance, but it didn't help matters. Probably because Harry himself needed it. The boy glanced around and made to step towards the closest door, but then he heard a groan from the corridor behind the door furthest from the entrance.

Harry held up his left hand, pointed at himself and at that door. Hermione nodded. Harry pointed at her and gestured to stay there. She protested silently, but Harry glared at her and she nodded. The boy smiled slightly and slowly crept towards the corridor.

He was sneaking through the Shack towards the door from which the groans were coming. Levelling his wand at it, he smirked.

_"Depulso__."_

The old door, barely held upright by the rusted hinges, didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. The spell that Harry learned to have something to throw at Black in the next meeting blew it to small parts that were thrown inside the room with dangerous velocity. Harry heard two cries and looked inside, not lowering his guard for a second.

Ron was lying on a half-crushed bed, nursing a wounded and, judging by the unnatural angle it was bent in, broken leg. It seemed he was missed by the flying debris, but nevertheless he looked very frightened. The other person was slowly raising from the ground, groaning and shaking himself. Harry slowly backed from the man, muttering:

"_Petrificus Totalus._"

The spell was thrown in the man's back. He was unprepared and shaken from the explosion and the fall. Harry didn't expect him to dodge.

Do you know the saying: "Expect the unexpected"?

The man rolled to the right in a perfect evasion. The petrifying spell hit the floor and fizzled out.

The man turned to him.

Last time, Harry didn't get a good look at Black – not really. He recognized him, true, but in the darkness of the dorm the murderer was barely visible. Now he could see him clearly.

He looked... haggard and worn. One hundred percent the convict that escaped from the Hell on Earth that was Azkaban. For a moment, the boy felt a sliver of pity for the man, followed by a half-forgotten memory of a funny man that turned into a dog...

_Wait a minute. Animagus?_

"So we meet at last," he said slowly, feeling a bit like a cartoon villain.

"Harry," Black rasped. He looked at the boy and tried to smile. "You look exactly like your father... but with your mother's eyes."

"I get that a lot," Harry answered neutrally, looking at Ron and checking if he's able to move. He wasn't – however, he gestured to just leave him there for a time being. Harry would have none of it.

"I'd really like you to stay and have a chat, but I believe you are being late for a date with a dementor," Harry told Black. The man couldn't help but shudder and glare at him.

"I won't return to Azkaban, kid. Not until I find him."

"That's right – you won't. It's a Kiss on sight for you, scum," Harry whispered venomously, raising his wand. "Now, you either come with me quietly or I'll force you."  
"You? Force me?" the man seemed terribly amused.

"Give me a reason, Black, I beg you..." Harry said quietly. Black laughed – it sounded like a bark.

"Look, kid, you may be the son of James, but you're a student. You're outclassed."

"Think whatever you like._Petrificus Totalus__._"

Black turned to the side, letting the spell pass him by an inch.

"And that is all you know?" his opponent sounded disappointed.

"Everything else is lethal," Harry deadpanned. "Like I said – come with me quietly, Black."

He barked a laugh, but quickly grew serious.

"Fine. The traitor isn't here after all. The pathetic coward ran like he always did. I just wanted to see you before leaving. Bye, kid. We'll meet again. You are, after all, my godson."

And before the boy could say a spell, Black turned into a grim and escaped the room though a little hole in the wall.

"DAMN IT!" Harry ran to the gap and looked through. It lead outside – and he could see Black running away from the Shack. Away from Hogwarts.

Running away from Harry.

"Bloody, buggering hell! He ran!" Harry hit the wall and started swearing. After a couple of minutes, when most of his anger left him, he sighed and turned towards Ron, who still sat on the bed, waiting patiently.

"Are you done?" the redhead asked. Harry nodded. "Good. Can you help me up? The bastard broke my leg!"

Harry sat near Ron, examining said limb. Steps nearby told him that Hermione finally decided to abandon her post and come and look what happened.

"Harry? I heard screams... Ron! Are you okay?" she ran to them and gasped at the sight of Ron's leg. It wasn't pretty, that much was true.

"We need to get him to madam Pomfrey! Let's go..." she grabbed Ron's hand and tried pull him to the door. Harry immediately objected.

"Stop! Don't be ridiculous – it'll be one hell of a painful trip for him. We'll have to levitate him," Hermione blushed, chagrined.

"Sorry. I didn't think._Mobilicorpus._"

"That wouldn't be the first time. Well, we all have our moments." Ron said philosophically while being lifted from the ruined bed. Harry snorted and looked around.

"I saw him drag you under that blasted tree, let it rot, but what happened after that?"

The trio proceeded to walk to the tunnel – Harry being the vanguard, Ron floating in the middle and Hermione bringing up the rear. After a couple of minutes Harry reminded Ron that he was asked a question.

"He just dragged me into the Shack, transformed, started to babble something about the betrayer and how he was too late to do anything about him..."

"You? He targeted you?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Well, I don't know. He suddenly stopped talking, told me to keep quiet and lie still. Then he crept to the door and then... well..."

"Knock-knock," Harry commented dryly.

"Yep. A piece of wood embedded itself into the bed right next to my head and another knocked the air out of me. Mate, you almost killed me!"

"Harry! You didn't..."

"Note to self: don't use destructive spells when you don't know whether your friends will be friendly-fired," Harry said weakly.

"Harry James Potter!"

"Oh look, we are already there!" he told her with faux cheerfulness._She will absolutely murder me later, I know it, but I'm all for delaying the execution._"Let's just hope that the tree is still, well,**still**, or we're stuck here..."

Unfortunately, whatever held the Willow in place must have taken a holiday and bought a ticket to Mediterranean Sea, because they could hear the groaning of the cursed plant. Harry cautiously approached the exit of the tunnel, gesturing for Ron and Hermione to be quiet – not that they needed the reminder. The boy looked trough the entrance hole and immediately jumped back, as a branch of the tree flew with a lethal velocity through the spot where his head had been the second before. Harry leaned back from the danger and suddenly slipped on the wet grass.

His arse met the ground with abandon that wouldn't be out of place at a meeting of long-lost best friends, and the back of his head enthusiastically greeted a strange lump on the wall of the tunnel.

"Argh! Damn it!" Harry blinked off a few tears and tried to come to his senses.

"That looked like it hurt," Ron said sympathetically.

"It did... Ouch!" Harry wobbled to his feet and rubbed the tender area on his kettle.

"So, the Willow is active, I take it?" Hermione inquired impatiently.

"Yeah, it... hang on a second" Harry paused and listened.

No groaning.

He ever-so-slowly looked out, ready to duck at a moment's notice.

The tree was silent.

"It looks like it's paralysed again. I think it's safe," the boy said uncertainly. Ron asked:

"Are you sure? Maybe it just lays in wait?"

Harry looked at the tree carefully. It was completely still. He shrugged and after a moment of deliberation stood up and walked out of the tunnel.

"Harry, are you crazy? Get back!" he heard Hermione say frantically. He smiled and called back:

"Come on! It's fine!"

After a couple of minutes, a bunch of curses and a couple of bruises Hermione managed to levitate Ron through the relatively small entrance. By the end of the procedure Ron was swearing up and down that he would never trust Hermione with levitating him again. Hermione in retaliation reminded him that his own levitation skills were inadequate at best.

"My levitating skills are **stunning**, woman!" Ron grumbled good-naturedly while they were walking towards the castle.

"Ron, you got a Troll for it," Harry added, throwing a teasing smirk at him.

The resulting laugh was suddenly silenced. They shuddered from the sudden cold.

"I think we need to hurry to the castle. It's becoming cold out here," Hermione said.

"Far too cold," Harry muttered, looking around nervously and quickening his pace. The chill was unmistakable – the dementors were on the prowl.

"Where were they when Black was here?" The boy asked nobody in particular, starting to run and turning his head slightly to keep Hermione and Ron in his sight. The feeling of hopelessness was increasing rapidly, and he had to forcibly blanket my emotions. "Now that the bastard's gone, they appear... oh Merlin."

Between the trio and their goal there must have been a hundred of the creatures. They were silent, hanging in the air still as statues, their cloaks billowing in ethereal wind. It was like they were taunting them – come on, try and get past us. Harry winced and fell to his knees, barely managing to keep hold of his consciousness, the pleas of his mother sounding as clearly to him as if she stood right behind them.

Harry could see the castle entrance. It was tauntingly close. So close... and yet so far.

Harry had to push on the ground with his left hand to keep himself from completely falling. He was helpless – and **they **didn't even directly focus on him! The boy sneaked a glance at Ron and Hermione. They were extremely pale, but stood upright, completely lucid.

In that moment, in the strange mix of hopelessness, fear and protective detachment that was his current emotional condition, appeared a new ingredient that only occasionally (in situations like this, to be exact) made a visit.

Resolve.

Harry grit his teeth. He raised the eleven inches of holly with the phoenix feather core – however shakily – and forced himself to remember the happiest memories of his short life. Memories that featured two people that were right next to him in the cold field. Two people that he **had** to protect.

Emotion. Focus. Intent. Incantation.

"_Expecto Patronum."_

A wisp of silver smoke blew from his wand, creating a mist-like shield between him and the... demons. It was insufficient. He had to do better.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

Another wisp came out – this one much more condesced. The misty shield now almost completely obscured the dementors, muting their effects to a level when Harry could deal with it.

Breath in. Breath out.

_Memories – flashes of friendship, of belonging._

_Emotion – happiness, joy, feeling of having a place that I could call home._

_Intent – I will protect those who gave me these memories. I will not let them be touched!_

Incantation.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

A translucent dome rose from his wand, surrounding the trio with an impenetrable wall of light.

"Go, go, go!"

Hermione snapped out of her trance and hurriedly levitated Ron. She ran forward and Harry followed with his wand raised and maintaining the shield around them.

They ran towards the entrance – and, coincidentally, towards the dementors. Madness, you say? Maybe it was...

Anyway, they ran through the crowd of soul-suckers as fast as they were able to – Hermione slowing down a bit so that Harry could keep up (running with a shield was like running with someone sitting on you).

And then the dementors started the attack.

One would crash into the dome, trying to get to the children, and would be repelled with a flash of light, shrieking, only for another to try. The blows weren't felt by Harry, fortunately, otherwise they wouldn't survive there. But the chaos around them was disrupting his focus and those who tried to come through the front of the dome obstructed the view of their path to the slightly open gates.

It was only a couple of hundred steps, but when the trio finally entered the castle, closed the doors and Harry let go of the Patronus, they felt like they had just run a Marathon.

"Do you think I should write a complaint about the dementors?" Harry asked when he got his breath again.

"Please do," Ron grumbled. "Now, can we go to Pomfrey? My leg is hurting and I want chocolate."

Harry and Hermione chuckled weakly to this response, so typically Ron, and got up.

**A week later, the Minister's office**

"Albus, do you realize the consequences of a screw up of this magnitude? Wait, don't answer: of course you realize them! We have been working with foreign schools for five years! **Five**! You know they will refuse to cooperate if you air out our newest piece of dirty laundry..." Cornelius Fudge ranted, trying to persuade the old warlock. The warlock in question only smiled merrily.

"I wouldn't say that they will refuse; I believe that it would prove advantageous to tell them that we need another year to make sure everything goes according to plan."

The minister stopped his nervous pacing and his face brightened considerably.

"Yes, great idea, Albus! We can spin that as us wishing to ensure the safety of their students... But what of Black? You believe that he will return to the school and despite that..."

"Dementors are more of a security hazard than an escaped convict," Albus interrupted him with distaste in his voice. "I believe that it would be better for all if you sent an Auror squad as I suggested previously."

Before the minister could object, he added:

"And think what would happen if young Harry wouldn't be able to hold his shield for as long as he could."

Fudge blanched. To say that indirectly causing the Boy-Who-Lived to suffer a fate worse than death would be disastrous for his career would be a big understatement.

The pudgy man sat down and sighed.

"So, you suggest that we postpone the Triwizard Tournament to the next year and station Aurors at Hogwarts so that Black doesn't escape next time."

"Yes. I believe you have enough on your plate with the Quidditch Cup, Cornelius," Albus said, his eyes twinkling a bit. Fudge grumbled, looking warily at the huge pile of documents on his table.

"You have no idea, Albus. Bagman is starting to drive me up the wall; if I didn't have Barty to keep him somewhat in check, I'm afraid I would be in St. Mungo's long-term ward by now..."

"Yes, well, Ludo was always enthusiastic when it came to sports," the Headmaster answered merrily, getting up and dusting his robes (emerald-green with polka dots). "If there's nothing else, have a good day, Cornelius."

The remaining of the year was relatively quiet. With Dumbledore banishing the dementors, all the occupants of the castle could breathe freely. The moment the foul beings left the grounds, the castle got warmer, and not only temperature-wise. For a couple of days after that most of the students were walking the halls with stupid grins on their faces.

Instead of the dementors, the school now played host to Auror guards; six men with grim faces were patrolling the castle at night. Judging by their expressions, they didn't particularly enjoy this assignment, but it was hardly relevant.

The exams came and passed. Harry and Ron damn near cracked under the amount of studying that Hermione unleashed upon them. But in the end, they were more or less grateful for this. For a couple of days after the exams the boys had to suffer Hermione's constant rants with a leitmotif "what if we failed something?", but on the third day Harry snapped and told her that she should stop having a breakdown for no reason at all... well, OK, it was a teensy bit ruder than that, but he got the point across. When in his counter-rant he likened her to Lavender or Parvati who liked to throw hysterics over pointless things, she got terrified by the comparison and after the boys assured her she was doing exactly the same thing, she swore to never do that again.

Hermione really didn't like those two girls.

Another event of interest happened on the 1st of June, when Harry was relaxing by the lake after the Transfiguration exam. Hermione and Ron were currently in the library, as Hermione wanted to check if she had gotten the right answers to some questions and roped Ron into going with her.

So, Harry was lying under the tree on the shore of the lake, listening to the sound of water and slowly drifting to sleep, when he was suddenly addressed.

"Harry Potter?"

He opened his left eye and looked up. A blonde girl stood near him._What was her name? Moon? No... ah, Luna._

"Luna, right?" She nodded. "What can I do for you?"

She blinked.

"You can do a lot of things. I think that you wouldn't do many of them, however," was the serene answer.

Harry snorted and opened his right eye.

"Cheeky. Did that girl leave you alone?"

"She never hit me again."

Luna stood there with her head tilted slightly to the side. Harry sat up.

"Hm. Did anyone else hit you?"

She shook her head and fiddled with a loose strand of her hair.

"You shouldn't sit near the lake," she said suddenly. "The Blistering Humdingers like damp places."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"And they are?"

"You don't know?" she asked him, aghast. It was the first time that she spoke in a tone other than serene. "The Quibbler wrote a lot about them in September. Do you want to read it?"

"Um... it depends on if they are real or not," Harry answered warily.

"What is the difference?" she asked seriously. He didn't find a reply to that.

"Oh-kay. Fine, I'll bite. But can it wait? I wanted to spend this day without having to read another word."

"Oh. Well, you can read it later, I suppose," she sat down near him and he lied down again, closing his eyes. For a couple of minutes, they sat there in a comfortable silence. Finally, he asked:

"Are you not afraid of Humdangers yourself?"

"Humdingers. And no, they are afraid of radishes, so we are safe for the moment," _Ah, her earrings..._Harry smiled lazily.

"Makes sense, I guess."

After another minute of silence the boy glanced at her with one eye.

"Are you here because of me being the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"No. You just seemed to need some company."

With that she got up. Harry blinked at her._What was that supposed to mean?_

"I'll pass the Quibbler to you on the Hogwarts express," she twirled on her toes and left skipping. He watched her with a puzzled expression as she vanished.

_That is an odd one. But not in a bad way, I suppose._

Harry looked out of the window of the Hogwarts express as it left Hogsmeade towards London, saying a silent goodbye to the village and the castle. It would be another long summer without them._Well, at least I will have the letters from my friends. And Lupin, I hope._

In the last week before the end of the term Snape let it slip that Lupin was a werewolf. Because of that the DADA professor had to resign before he was made to by hundreds of angry parents. Harry could understand that – and he was damn angry at the greasy git for ousting the best Defense teacher they ever had. He managed to teach a third-year to do a Patronus, for Merlin's sake!

In their last talk, Lupin – or Moony, as he had asked Harry to call him – promised him to write from now on. He was (understandably so) extremely interested in his talk with Black. After the retelling, he sat quietly for a long time, after which muttering that something was amiss. In Harry's opinion, if something was missing, it was Black's sanity.

The door of the cabin slid open, the sound pulling the boy from his thoughts. Luna stood there with a huge pack of old magazines in her hands.

"Hey, Luna. You brought the Quibbler, I assume?" Harry asked and gestured for her to come in. She did so.

"Yes. I have marked the most interesting issues so that you can read them first," she passed the old issues, which Harry, after a short deliberation, put in the food packet – already empty no thanks to Ron.

"Thanks. I will need some light reading in the summer, otherwise I'll go nuts," Harry weighted the packet appreciatively.

Both Ron and Hermione directed the "what the hell?" looks at him.

"Mate, you really want to read the whole summer?" Ron asked after swallowing the last sandwich.

"Positive. Well, not **all**summer, but occasionally. There's not much to do at the Privet Drive."

"Harry, if you needed some reading, you could have read something factual," Hermione noted with disapproval. "The Quibbler writes about things no one has ever seen – no offence," she apologized hurriedly, realizing just who was in the cabin.

"None taken. And if seeing is believing, then sometimes you need to believe to be able to see," Luna replied in a detached voice.

Looking at the stupefied faces of his friends, Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Luna, I think it is a start of a beautiful friendship."

The smile she gave him in answer was nothing short of brilliant.


	8. The Quidditch Excitement

**Chapter updated: 30.09.14**

"_How do I do this part, teacher?" Harry addressed the robed Egyptian. The latter glanced up from the amulet he was working on and assessed the golden bracelet that Harry had been etching runes into._

"_Try layering."_

_Harry glared at the piece of jewellery in his hands._

"_I don't know where to start with things like that!"_

"_Then, my temporary apprentice, I will say only one word.__** IMPROVISE!**__"_

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Quidditch Excitement**

* * *

** Two days before the Cup, #4 Privet Drive**

Harry woke up with a start, taking shallow breaths and shaking slightly. _That nightmare was easily one of the most vivid I had ever had. _He shook himself mentally and tried to calm down. _Breath__e__ in. __Breathe__ out. Blank your feelings. Clear your mind._ After a minute the emotional turmoil left him. Harry glanced at his watch – it was half past six. He cracked his neck and with a groan got up from the bed.

_If I'm up, I can as well get to work. _His plans were made, the needed information gathered from Neville, professor Sprout, and months of watching the market. Now it was time to enter the financial world – and enter it with a bang.

"Happy birthday to me."

Exactly twenty minutes later he crept out of the house, not willing to wake up the Dursleys and face a shouting match. He dragged his trunk behind him, trying as hard as possible to stay silent.

After he closed the door behind him, he grinned, turned around and whipped out his wand.

**BANG**

The Knight Bus appeared not two seconds after he summoned it. That was to be expected, though.

What was NOT expected was that the bus appeared directly in the Dursleys' front garden, squashing aunt Petunia's favourite roses, ruining the lawn and absolutely destroying the fence.

Harry gaped at the destruction that he inadvertently caused._ Vernon is so going to kill me... or not_. The boy grinned diabolically and started walking towards the opening doors of the bus.

_How will he kill me if I will be nowhere near him for at least a year?_

A couple of minutes later Harry was standing near the Leaky Cauldron, breathing in and out to calm down his nerves and intestines. _I __**hate **__that form of magical travel. It never agrees with me._

The boy grumbled and entered the inn. There was almost no one inside, except Tom and a couple of witches that were talking quietly in the corner. He dragged the trunk inside and walked to the bald wizard, who currently was cleaning the tables with well-practised motions of his wand.

"Morning, Tom. I have an appointment in Gringotts, and didn't think to leave my things at my friend's house. Would it be okay if I left it here somewhere for the morning?"

Tom looked up and shrugged.

"Sure, no problem. Put it behind the stand."

"Thanks."

Harry did as he was told to and entered the Diagon Alley. It was seven twenty, and if he remembered correctly, Gringotts opened at seven. The boy marched to the white marble building and opened the doors, nodding to the (slightly groggy) goblins that stood guard near the entrance, receiving a nod in answer. From what he read about goblins, they valued gold more than anything. And time was gold, as is widely known, so in their opinion a person was polite if he or she didn't waste the goblin's time any more than absolutely needed.

Harry walked to the closest teller. The big-nosed creature was shuffling his papers and grumbling something in Gobbledegook under his nose.

"My name is Harry Potter and I have an appointment with Secondary Overseer Tearshape," Harry told him, not bothering with greetings. The teller looked at him, grunted in acknowledgement, turned to his left and shouted in Gobbledegook. After that he resumed sorting his papers.

Harry waited for a minute before he was approached by a rather tall goblin with very intelligent eyes and a gruesome looking scar that crossed his face from his left eye to the right corner of his wide mouth.

"Mr. Potter. I wasn't expecting you this early," he said in an even voice, but Harry could detect a faint note of irritation from him.

"I thought that I should start as early as possible. Time is money," the boy answered tersely. It seemed that his answer satisfied him, as the goblin grunted in agreement and, gesturing for Harry to follow him, started to walk to the carts.

The trip to the vault was as exhilarating as always. When they got to the destination, Harry had a wide smile on his face.

"Blast, why don't wizards make their transportation just a bit less nausea-inducing? You goblins have succeeded in it," Harry noted. Tearshape shrugged.

"If you ask me, they are quite a lazy sort. Their golden rule is 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'," he answered curtly and started to knock on various places of the fortified door with his claw. After ten knocks the door made a couple of loud bangs, a screech of moving metal and finally opened with a moaning groan.

Harry grinned and entered the family vault.

Well, it certainly had gold. In that moment, the only two things that stopped the boy from jumping into a pile of Galleons and making an angel was a) the fact that it would be incredibly childish, and b) it would be quite painful.

Harry looked around appreciatively. It wasn't just gold that was there – he could see some chests along the far wall, a rack with swords, a dresser, a mirror and some portrait frames. He walked there and peered at the names on them. Ancestors of his, it seemed – five Potters, a couple of Derends, a Longbottom and a Black. Hm.

After the portraits it was time for the chests to be examined. _Books – and they look positively ancient. Family library, maybe?_

The dresser contained some dress robes – extremely fancy ones. Frankly, he thought that these were made for show and not to be worn. Harry closed the dresser and approached the mirror cautiously – his experiences with the Mirror of Erised made him wary around the mirrors of magical origin.

He gazed in the surface. It showed nothing.

"Well, what are you supposed to be?" Harry mused aloud, searching the silvery, delicate-looking frame for a clue. There wasn't an answer. He shrugged and left it alone.

_Well, now that I browsed my property, I've got a scheme to execute._

**Fifteen minutes later, Gringotts London, Private room #5**

"...and then we sell it at the same time to all three of them, possibly getting about 50% of our investments as pure profit," he finished. He was sitting in a well-lit room for business negotiations, and he had just explained his cunning plan to completely dominate the plant markets of Magical Britain and France to Tearshape, who was looking at him with an expression that he interpreted as thoughtful. After a minute of silence the goblin's face changed to a wide grin and he made a hearty chuckle.

"Yes, it would work. I remember hearing about a similar scheme being implemented in Japan, but it was done with magical metals."

Harry exhaled.

"So you approve?"

Tearshape nodded.

"I do. Your information eases the time I will need to spend gathering the data required at least twice, and I know just a person we can approach to lower our expenses during the first stage. The most important thing in these machinations is the timing: we have to buy or sell in just the right moments, when the price is at its lowest or highest respectively. The best part of your plan is that we know the correct time beforehand and can make adjustments if needed."

Harry rose from the table.

"Well, I have told you what I want you to do. Just out of curiosity, how much will you get out of it?"

Tearshape took a thick file of paper out of his desk.

"The standard fee is ten percent of the profits," he answered, opening the file and shuffling through it. Harry smirked.

"Well, if the profit of my scheme is 45% or more, your share will be thirteen. If it is more than 50%, you get fifteen."

Tearshape stared at the boy. Harry could almost hear the goblin's brains calculate the projected benefit. When his eyes got a greedy glint, Harry knew he had him.

"I will make it 60. Will I get twenty five in that case?"

"Seventeen," Harry immediately countered.

"Twenty two percent and nothing less," Tearshape said, his fingers moving in a distinctly disconcerting manner – like he was stabbing, screwing or tearing something apart at the same time.

"Nineteen percent. That seems acceptable to me," Harry stated.

"Very well. Twenty it is," Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't object as Tearshape took a roll of parchment and started to write on it with an exquisite quill, periodically humming or muttering in Gobbledegook. Harry waited patiently, idly looking around._ I wonder how many deals were made in this room, how many fortunes were created or ruined... From what I gather, Gringotts has been around for about five hundred years, so the number must have many zeros._

Finally Tearshape was done, and Harry grabbed the contract. He had already read a comprehensive tome about the most common tricks of goblins, and he had no wish to be ripped off.

"A-ha, you have an ... error here," he gave the parchment back and pointed at the place. Tearshape's left eyebrow slowly crept up.

"Mister Potter, I believe I'm going to enjoy working with you."

**Half an hour later, the Burrow**

Harry flew out of the Floo faster than a Malfoy from a mall. Fortunately, his flight was not obstructed and he crash-landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs and baggage.

"Damn it," he groaned, slowly coming to his senses and attempting to figure out if he still had all his appendages in working condition. "That was new**.**"

Harry heard steps from the kitchen and managed to rise to his feet when Mrs. Weasley came into view.

"Harry, dear! How was the trip?" she asked, hugging him with the unrelenting force of an industrial press. He couldn't stifle a wince, but she didn't see it.

"Awful," he croaked. "I don't know what great sin I committed in my last life, but both the Floo and the Knight Bus are certainly out for my blood. I probably burned little buses in little Floos or something equally horrible."

"Oh, you poor dear. Well, come to the kitchen! Everyone will come down in a minute. Leave your things by the stairs, you and Ron can take them up afterwards."

"Okay," he shrugged and lifted his luggage. He dragged them to the staircase and dropped everything near the first step.

He sat in the kitchen, watching Mrs. Weasley preparing the meal with a slightly frightening speed. _Comes with experience, I guess. _Harry briefly wondered if he would be that good by the end of Seventh Year – he didn't see himself trusting the elves with preparing his food in the near future, although the little buggers somehow did manage to worm their way into his heart. They were just so damn loveable. Plus he started to miss eating in the Great Hall – the excited murmuring of the first years, the slightly hysterical tones of fifth and seventh year students, the benevolent gaze of Dumbledore as he, as an old king, sat in his throne and watched over his dominion ... And the ceiling, can't forget the ceiling. When it was sunny, it was all he could do not to get out of school and go to his favourite spot near the lake. _It is rather sunny now, come to think of it, and there is a pond nearby..._

In other astrological news, judging from the thundering stampede that would put a rhinoceros herd to shame coming from the stairs, there were gingers incoming.

The first to come into Harry's view was Percy. The Perfect Prefect nodded to him curtly and sat at the corner of the table. He was followed by Fred and George, who greeted Harry enthusiastically. Ginny and Ron were next, coming into kitchen and arguing about Quidditch. When she saw Harry, Ginny immediately stopped talking and waved at him shyly. When he smiled and nodded in answer, she went beet red. _Well, at least she doesn't employ the 'squick-and-run' tactics anymore. That was annoying._

"Hey, mate," Ron fell on the chair next to him. "How's it?"

"Good so far," Harry shrugged. "I've got a go ahead about my business scheme, I will be a bit richer soon enough and a couple of people will enjoy a drop in their income."

"You sure?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"I fool-proofed it, made contingency plans for each and every possible hiccup and even if it comes to worst, I will be able to return my investments. Heads – I win, tails – they lose," he grinned savagely. The sheer amount of time he and spent making plans, counter-measures, predicting the possible missteps and double-checking the data was absolutely ridiculous. Basically, he had been thinking about it every time he went to sleep since January.

"It will either make you a couple more enemies while making you a bit richer, or spectacularly blow up in your face," Ron said for the nth time, shaking his head. Harry glanced at him, bemused.

Yes, Harry had told Ron about his plan despite money being a big sore point for his friend. The only reason Ron wasn't in an awful mood for the second half of the school year was that Harry presented it to him as a plan to hit Lucius Malfoy where it hurts in retaliation for the diary incident. Ron may grumble a lot about his family and he may snap at the twins and Percy, but he loved his sister and would do anything to the bastard that almost got her killed. Granted, he didn't know that Malfoy probably won't even bother about the small dent in his income, being as rich as he was, and also not having invested all that much into the magical plant business.

"The Malfoys are already my enemies. And for the hundredth time, it **won't **blow up."

"Uh, Harry? What are you two talking about?" Fred asked, looking from Ron to him. Harry shared a look with Ron who silently signalled to deal with it himself. Harry sighed and chose the wording.

"Gentlemen, I'll put it this way: Malfoy Senior is in for a big prank."

The twins grinned simultaneously. Percy threw a calculating look at him. Ginny seemed interested, while Mrs. Weasley looked at him with faint disapproval.

"Harry, you have to keep far from that man. If you openly oppose him, he will respond in kind."

That thought cut him short. _They say that turnaround is fair play... I'll need to make sure that my own assets cannot be harmed in the same manner._ Harry pondered this as Mrs. Weasley put the food on the table.

"I'll need to visit Tearshape again ... Maybe after the Cup?" Harry mused. That quickly turned the conversation towards the Quidditch.

The World Cup was scheduled to begin the next evening, and seeing that Mr. Weasley somehow procured tickets, they were moving out at six in the morning. Harry wasn't all that happy about waking up in such an ungodly hour, but as they say, no pain – no gain. So, on the cool morning of the 1st of August, he was walking zombie-style beside Ron, grumbling a bit and forcing at least one of his eyes to open from time to time if he started to stumble. After half an hour of dragging their sleepy arses along with Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Percy, Hermione and Ginny they finally stopped at the top of a small hill.

"Now, where is it?" Mr. Weasley wondered, looking around. "Finding it is always the difficult part..."

"I've got it!" a voice called from the other side of the mist-covered hill. After a moment, a rather... round man came into visibility. His face was way more cheerful that it had any right to be, considering the weather and the time. In his hands he was carrying... an old boot?

"Morning, Amos. Sure that's it?" Mr. Weasley greeted him. The man – Amos – nodded.

"Yes, I've already checked. It was Cedric that found it, actually. Cedric! Come here, I've found the Weasleys!"

The next person to come out of the mist was Cedric Diggory – the Hufflepuff Seeker. Incidentally, the one and only guy that ever got the Snitch before Harry, dementor induced faint or not. Harry nodded to him, which the boy returned with a smile.

"Everyone, this is Amos Diggory. I assume that you know his son, Cedric?"

The children nodded. Mr. Diggory shook Harry's hand enthusiastically.

"Cedric told me about you. He beat you this year, didn't he?" he asked cheerfully. Harry's eye twitched and he threw Cedric a dirty look. He shrugged apologetically and mouthed: 'Dads'.

"Well, we **did **have dementors on the field that day, and they caused me to pass out right in the middle of the chase after the Snitch. I don't know who would win, but it would be a really close thing regardless. I'm looking forward to this year's match," Harry stated, deciding to throw a bone to Cedric. Besides, that was actually the truth. Diggory Senior waved him off.

"Well, Ced always was one of the best, so don't feel bad that he has got one over the Boy-Who-Lived."

The Weasleys – aside from Mr. Weasley and Percy – had rather angry expressions on their faces. Cedric looked as if he really wanted to become invisible. Harry narrowed his eyes, but decided to let it go for now.

"So," he said instead, "How are we getting there?"

"We will use this," Amos Diggory gestured at the boot in his hands.

"And... how exactly will we use it?" Harry prompted. Mr. Weasley started explaining.

"This is something called a Portkey. It is a magical method of transportation suitable for groups of people. In approximately," he glanced at his watch, "five minutes it will go to the Cup camp, taking us along. Now, touch it with a finger."

Everyone complied, gathering in a circle around the old piece of footwear and touching it with a finger. Despite all of Harry's exposure to magic, it was a rather surreal scene.

"Amos, there isn't anybody around who's supposed to use this Portkey and is late, is there?" Mr. Weasley asked. Diggory shook his head.

"Nope, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already, Fawcett didn't get a ticket, and there aren't any others living here."

After a short wait the boot started to glow faintly, and in another second Harry felt as if he was lifted and dragged in the air by a hook behind his navel and spun around with a speed that was much, much higher than that of the Floo. The journey itself took maybe five seconds, but it far eclipsed his previous experiences with wizarding ways of travel.

He crashed hard on his legs and fell to his knees, dry-heaving. _Thank Merlin I didn't eat anything beforehand._

After he came around he shook his head and silently vowed that as soon as he finished the Arithmancy course he would invent a new method of quick transportation that wouldn't make a person feel like shit.

"Mate, you okay?" he heard Ron say. Harry nodded silently and got up, wincing at his protesting leg joints. _Oh great, now it's not just my stomach._

"Yeah, more or less," he waved the concern off. Ron nodded.

"Move along now, the next one arrives in a couple of minute," someone said in a tired voice. Near the mist-covered clearing where the group appeared stood two irritated wizards. They obviously were trying to pass off as Muggles - "trying" being the key word. After a moment Harry figured it likely they were from the Ministry, there to oversee people landing by Portkey. The more tired-looking grabbed the boot, tapped it with his wand and tossed into a rubbish bin, already containing some random pieces of crap, confirming that theory.

"Yes, of course, Basil. Don't mind telling us where to?" Diggory asked. The dishevelled worker nodded and opened an enormous parchment.

"Wait a bit... Diggory, Diggory, aha! Second field, that's over there, ask for Mr. Pain. Next, Weasley – first field, a bit further than the second. Ask for Mr. Roberts."

"Thank you. Let's go then," Mr. Weasley gestured for the rest to follow him.

They have been walking in the foggy field for at least twenty minutes before coming near a big... shack. In front of it stood a man, dressed like a Muggle – and he didn't look like an absolute scarecrow, either, which made him either a Muggleborn or a genuine Muggle.

The company said goodbye to Mr. Diggory and Cedric – the first with less sincerity than the second one – and approached the man.

"Mr. Roberts, I assume?" Mr. Weasley asked genially. The man stopped gazing into the horizon and looked at him.

"Yes, it's me. You're with a reservation?" He asked, curiously looking from one to another in the little group.

"Of course! Weasley, made a couple of days ago," Mr. Roberts looked through the list that was hanging on the door.

"A-ha... yes, everything seems in order. You rented a place near the forest. Cash now or later?"

"Ah... now, of course," Mr. Weasley nodded. He gestured for Harry to follow him and took out a roll of Muggle money from his pocket.

"Help me out here," he asked quietly. Harry nodded and counted out the needed sum, then gave it to the man, who watched the procedure with interest. Accepting the money, he grunted and asked:

"Are you all foreigners of some sort?"

"Pardon?" Mr. Weasley blinked. Mr. Roberts explained:

"You aren't the first to not figure out the money. A couple of lads ten minutes ago tried to pay me with gold coins the size of a wheel."

_ Ah, so he __**is **__a Muggle._

"Oh, really?" Mr. Weasley grew very nervous. Mr. Roberts started to dig in his pockets for change.

"There never were any crowds here. Not this big. Hundreds of pre-bookings. Usually people just come here..."

"Yes, yes, is everything in order?" Mr. Weasley interrupted, reaching for the change, but Mr. Roberts clearly wasn't in any hurry to part with it.

"Yes... so many people. A lot of foreigners. Not even foreigners as much as simply weird people. There's a guy hanging around in a kilt and poncho," he said pensively.

"What are you saying?"

"This looks like, I don't know... a gathering of sorts," Roberts continued. "And everybody knows each other, like they are one big company."

A wizard suddenly appeared right next to them. His outfit, fortunately, contained neither a kilt nor a poncho.

"_Obliviate,_" he stated firmly, pointing his wand at Roberts. The Muggle's eyes went foggy for a couple of seconds and his face relaxed. Harry grimaced._ Mind-wipe. Absolutely disgusting, but evidently necessary._

"Here is the map, and your change," Mr. Roberts said in a peaceful tone.

"Thank you."

The wizard walked with the group for a while. Frankly, he looked like shite: the circles under his eyes were a neat aquamarine colour, his stubble was obviously older than a couple of days, and his clothes were ruffled. As soon as they were far enough that the Muggle wouldn't be able to hear them, he started complaining.

"This guy is so much trouble! I have to Obliviate him ten times a day to keep him happy! And Ludo Bagman isn't helping at all, just keeps running around the camp and blabbering about Quaffles and Bludgers, without giving a fig about the Statute of Secrecy and all the trouble we've gone to for the anti-Muggle contingencies. I can't wait till it will be over. Bye, Arthur, see you later."

The wizard vanished.

"Wait, isn't Mr. Bagman the Head of the Department of Magical Sport?" Ginny asked, surprised. "He has to know better than not to disregard security so blatantly."

"He does know, of course," Mr. Weasley answered, chuckling. "But Ludo has always been... ah... negligent when it came to safety measures. But he loves his job, and you won't find another Head of that department as good as he is. He played for our national team, you know, and he was the best Beater we ever had."

They were walking in the rows of tents, watching the lone Ministry officials who were patrolling the camp. Few people were awake at this hour. Harry was looking around with his jaw on the ground: while some tents were pretty much regular-looking, others were anything but. One resembled a freaking castle with towers, a water trench and a bridge. Another was **floating in the air**, while a third one was a brightly coloured three floored monstrosity with peacocks walking around. And even those who decided to 'go Muggle' did it with predictable results. Or, rather, unpredictable.

During their short walk, Harry saw a tent with a barbecue hanging from the door (don't ask), another had pipes sticking out from random places, another had an absolutely ridiculous colour scheme that one wouldn't see even in Dumbledore's wardrobe and had a weather vane spinning wildly on the top.

"Your rants about the lack of common sense in wizards come to mind," Harry quietly murmured to Hermione, who, like him, looked at the stuff around with a mix of confusion and amusement. She snorted and gestured around.

"You know what they remind me of? They are like kids who want to emulate adults and put on clothes that are much bigger than them. Naturally, their attempts look ridiculous."

Harry laughed at that.

"Why, Hermione, I believe that you are a first Muggle supremacist," he teased her. "'Bow before Muggles, you lowly purebloods'. Catchy, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just that they are trying to pretend to be something they are not and not succeeding, causing them to look hilarious."

"Ah, it's here!" Mr. Weasley said, pointing at the pole in the ground with a sign that read 'Weasley'. "The best place possible – the pitch is on the other side of the forest. You can't get any nearer."

After half an hour of fumbling about with the tents they (read: the boys and Hermione) managed to set both of them up. Harry looked them over questioningly and shared a look with Hermione. Barring an extensive use of Space Expansion charms, he didn't see a way all ten of them would fit in. Mr. Weasley looked inside the tent and vanished in the entrance.

"A little cramped, but it will do for a night," his voice came out a bit muffled. "Take a look!"

Harry shrugged and entered the tent.

Well, the Space Expansion it was. He looked around, slightly confounded despite expecting something like this.

"I borrowed it from Perkins," Mr. Weasley said, wiping his head with a handkerchief and checking out the beds. "He works in my department, and he didn't need it anymore, poor guy."

He took a dusty kettle and looked inside.

"We will need water for the tea."

"There's a water source on the map that Muggle gave us," Ron interjected. Mr. Weasley looked around and brought out a couple of buckets.

"How about you, Harry, Hermione and Ginny go and get us the water? Fred, George, you will look for some foliage in the forest for the fire."

"Um... Dad? Why do we have to do it on fire?" Ron asked, bewildered. Mr. Weasley grinned.

"Secrecy, of course! Muggles do it like that, so we have to do it as well," he beamed at them enthusiastically. To be completely truthful, he looked quite deranged in that moment.

After a short detour to the girls' tent, which was smaller, cleaner and didn't stink like a cat's backside, they started to walk to the water source. The camp was slowly waking up – they saw more and more people, mostly children, moving about. Harry snorted when he saw a small boy, probably two, holding a wand and happily poking a slug lying in the grass which was slowly swelling up to monstrous proportions. He shook his head and looked at a company of black-skinned wizards in bright robes who sat around a bright purple fire and were cooking something that resembled a rabbit.

Finally, they came to where the source was. There already was a long queue.

"Ah, damn. We'll be stuck here for half-an-hour, minimum," Harry groaned. "And it's chilly."

"What do you propose, then?" Hermione asked. He smirked.

"Well, from what I've been told, the Ministry monitors underage magic made by wand, but with all this," Harry gestured around, "Their detectors are useless."

"Harry, it's stupid. You still can't know for sure," Hermione tried to reason. "Are you willing to bet on them not detecting you using magic and expelling you from Hogwarts just for the sake of not staying in the queue for just half-an-hour?"

Harry barked a laugh and dropped his bucket on the ground.

"When you put it like that... Come on, what's life without a little risk? And I sincerely doubt they would expel me over something like this. Now, what was that incantation McGonagall told me? _Aqua Inundantia!"_

"Harry, WAIT!"

Hermione's shout came a bit too late. Harry's wand, pointed inside the bucket, expelled a huge amount of water in the space of a second. As the bucket was too small for the sheer amount of liquid that Harry was conjuring, all water that was inside was being pushed by the stream that Harry's wand spewed and immediately shot out of the small space. Some of it went directly at Harry's face, making him stop the spell out of surprise, but most of the water was spread in the radius of five meters from ground zero.

"Holy shit!" Harry spat out a bit of water, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I did **not **intend that to happen!"

"Well, thank you very much for that!" someone called from behind him.

Harry whirled around. Right behind him stood a rather pretty brunette girl a couple of years older than him. She was looking at him with irritation. After a couple of seconds he noticed that her clothes had wet spots.

"Oh. Sorry for that, I didn't know it would be a large-scale conjuration," Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"Didn't know? Why then did you use a spell that you haven't used before?" the girl asked with a rather strange accent. Harry shrugged.

"I remembered that it would conjure water permanently and I didn't want to stay in the queue."

"Ah."

"Um... not to be rude, but who are you?" Ginny asked in a slightly rude tone.

"Ah, sorry. Name's Adel. Adel Voron."

The company introduced themselves. When Harry told her his name, he didn't get as much as a move of her eyes to show she recognized it. _Maybe where she came from I am relatively unknown?_

"Where are you from, Adel?" He asked her.

"I live in Cyprus," she answered, shrugging. "My school's there."

He noticed that she evaded the question, but let it go as unimportant. Hermione looked like she wanted to interrogate her about the school, and after a glance at the nearly empty buckets she immediately started asking questions. Harry shook his head slightly in exasperation, but still listened to Adel's explanations.

"Well, the school isn't in Cyprus, per se – it is built on a smaller island that was hidden from Muggles. Most of the grounds are under the ocean – they are covered by an impenetrable barrier that wards the water off. It is beautiful in a sunny day – there is always colourful fish swimming above us, often even dolphins. Hogwarts is hidden as well, I take it?"

Twenty minutes later they were walking towards their side of the camp, as it appeared that Adel's tent was not far from theirs.

Harry was listening to Adel describing her school with admiration in her voice. The Cypric Academy of Wizardry and Witchcraft was huge – from her words, it housed nearly half of Eastern European Muggleborns, while the purebloods applied at Durmstrang or Maggatorn (which was the Polish analogue of Durmstrang from what she said). The students from further south tended to go to one of the multiple Egyptian institutions. Also, Cyprus Academy was more than just a school – its students had the option to stay after the NEWTs and study further in any of the exotic subjects that were taught there.

"Exotic?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Well, 'exotic' as in 'not taught widely': Dark Arts, blood magic, enchanting..."

"Dark Arts?" Hermione asked, horrified. "I thought that you said it was a school for Muggleborn!"

Adel looked at her as if she was being stupid.

"So what? It is not a privilege of purebloods to use dark magic."

"Yes, but..." Hermione stammered. Adel shrugged and let it drop.

Finally, they reached their tent. After saying goodbye for now, Adel told them she'd come visit after the game, to which they agreed.

**The next day, 00.06**

"We are the champions... we are the champions..." Adel sang, swaying slightly. Harry did his level best to sing along, but seeing as he didn't know the lyrics, it was a bit difficult.

They were sitting by Adel's tent, while her three friends from school were talking to Hermione and Ginny. Hermione was very, very interested in foreign education systems, and Sharad – an Indian boy with a roguish grin and an awkward accent – knew everything there was to know about that from his own search for optimal education. Unfortunately, he didn't know much English, and had to rely on Lucy – his girlfriend – to translate.

Oh, and they were all a bit tipsy. Firewhisky does that to people. It was a good thing that Harry had decided to stop after his head grew heavier – he had no particular desire to experience the wonders of hangover, not to mention the fact that he has already started having trouble walking in a straight line.

Adel, however, was completely and utterly drunk.

"Your own... prsnal... Jesus... Someone to hear your prawears... someone who's thear..." she sang, alcohol wreaking havoc with her pronunciation. She hugged Harry with her left arm and leaned on him slightly.

"Hey, Harry... whatcha thinkin' about?" she asked and giggled. The boy shrugged, doing his best not to show just how the close proximity affected him.

"Nothing to worry about."

"Heh... don't worry, be happy, right?" she leaned a bit closer. _Damn. Note to self: drinking Firewhisky does not good breath make _Harry thought to himself_. _"Y'know... there is something that would make me berrrry happy..."

"Oh yeah? And what is that?" he asked, looking at her warily. She giggled again.

Then she kissed him.

As far as the first kisses go, that one sucked worse than a leaky vacuum cleaner. She was drunk, Harry was inexperienced – not to mention that he felt as if someone had brained him with a sack of sand (quite soft on the first sight it may be, but it still knocks you out like a charm). But that **was** his first kiss, and he still enjoyed it, feeling as if there were tiny fireworks exploding behind his closed eyes.

It was a... surreal moment.

And of course, it had to end violently.

In a couple of... minutes? Seconds? Harry understood that those explosions he kept hearing were not, in fact, the imaginary accompaniment of his first kiss. He tore himself from Adel's lips and stood up.

"Harry?" she asked, but he shushed her. There were shouts. A lot of shouts. Harry looked to the side, where others stood before. They weren't there. Harry frowned. _When did they leave?_

He walked to the path between the tents and looked to the left, from where the noise originated. There was an unmistakable light of fire. That, together with the shouts and explosions, spelled trouble. Harry turned to Adel.

"There's an attack. We need to get moving before the fire, or worse, reaches us."

She paled and got up, sobering a bit.

"I need to gather some things from the tent."

"Be quick," he told her. "I will shout if something happens."

With that, she started running to her tent and Harry turned to the side from which the danger was coming. He took his wand out and leaned on the sign pole, watching out for anything suspicious.

He didn't have to wait long. About a dozen frightened people ran near him to the forest. Judging by their faces, things were bad.

Harry glanced at the tent with worry. _Where was she? We need to move, and quickly._ He started to tap his foot nervously.

"_Diffindo!_"

Harry had only a moment's notice to duck under the cutting hex. Somehow, he managed. Whirling to the side from where the spell came, he saw two men in black garb with masks resembling skulls about thirty meters away and walking towards him with their wands aimed in his direction. _Well, it seems that trouble found me as usual. _His hand rose almost reflexively.

"_Incendio!_"

A tight cone of fire came roaring out of his wand only to meet a shield before one of the black-clad men. The other didn't react that fast and started to scream and claw at his burning face, as if trying to tear the flame from his skin. His partner quickly doused him, snuffing out the fire, but the burnt man fell to the ground – likely out of it from shock. The first man was about to enervate his comrade, but Harry interrupted the thug with a cutting hex of his own, which hit the man's left arm, spraying the ground with blood. He turned to the boy, snarled and raised his wand, healing the gash absent-mindedly.

Harry jumped back, letting a sickly-yellow curse to splash harmlessly into the ground. His opponent immediately launched another curse right into his face, and he had to duck below it.

Harry had been dodging curses for more than a minute, allowing none to hit him. Unfortunately, he knew that he wouldn't be able to dance around for much longer. His tormentor knew this as well, and didn't let up on the onslaught. Harry had to go on the offensive, but the small number of basic spells he managed to send at his opponent were all stopped by a simple shield charm. He needed something stronger. _Something stronger, or something surprising._ He rolled to the left, painfully hitting his left shoulder with a stone, and raised his wand again.

"_Reducto, Expulso!"_

The man in black robes immediately threw up a shield, but Harry didn't aim at him. Instead, he aimed at the earth in front of the man.

The Reductor Curse is a wizard's shotgun of sorts. Its effects on the unprotected body are pretty similar when it is cast with enough power. And due to his stress, Harry overpowered it, significantly increasing its area of effect.

On the other hand, the Explosion Curse is a pressure-based spell, acting like a magical grenade of sorts, releasing a pressure wave that would push everything away.

The first spell impacted the ground, pushing up a sizeable amount of dirt. Then the second exploded slightly lower, its pressure wave grounding the dirt into fine dust and throwing it up at Harry's opponent and obscuring his view.

That was the opportunity Harry was waiting for. Immediately he turned around and ran behind the closest tent as quietly as he could.

_Okay, now what?_

His mind went into overload as he circled the tents. _That guy is much, much better than I am. I survived so far only because he was being lazy and sticking to direct offence spells. I need to get behind him, and be very close._ The boy smirked. _At that distance, he will immediately hear any incantations I use. Therefore, I will just have to do this the old-fashioned way._

Harry peeked from behind the large hut-like construction he was near. He saw his opponent crouched near his fallen comrade, searching for something on the still figure. Harry took a deep breath and, after picking up a rather heavy stick that was used to secure the closest tent, started sneaking towards the man.

Ten meters… The masked man grumbled in annoyance and leaned back slightly, wiping his hands with the grass. Seven meters, he was searching for something in his pockets. Four meters, he put some sort of object in the other guy's hand and got up with a grunt. Two meters, Harry lifts the stick in his left hand while keeping his wand up in the right.

The improvised club connects with a satisfying 'thwack', staggering Harry's adversary.

"Fuckin' brat! _Avada Ke..._"

"_Diffindo!"_

Harry'sspell, fuelled by adrenaline and desperation, hit the man right in the middle of his torso, cutting it in half. Harry watched him falling in two pieces on the ground with an expression of disbelief on his face.

Harry looked at the gory mess on the ground between the two halves of the terrorist with a detached feeling. To his lingering surprise, he didn't feel queasy in the slightest, for which he didn't know if he should be more grateful or appalled. _It just didn't hit me yet._

The second thug was lying where he fell without giving any life signs. After thinking about it for a second, Harry sent an additional stunning hex at him and turned to the tent. _I didn't see Adel exiting it, so she must still be there. But why didn't she leave sooner?_ With a foreboding feeling he entered the tent.

Everything seemed fine inside – the things were scattered around after the noisy celebrations, sure, but nothing here struck him as being out of place.

He raised his wand and searched the rooms for any sign of Adel. To his tired exasperation and a lot of (silent) swearing he found her sleeping on the couch, drooling on the pillow and looking completely and utterly at peace. He wanted to wake her up, but changed his mind and, shaking his head at the girl, decided to continue standing guard near her.

**Three hours later**

He jerked awake at the sound of voices in his proximity. For a second he was still remembering the events that led him to awakening sitting on the coach in an unfamiliar room with a rather pretty looking girl using his lap as a pillow. Harry winced. _Oh, my legs hate me..._

_Ah. Ah. Ah..._ He remembered and immediately cursed himself for falling asleep when he intended to stay guard. _Coming down from shock or not, I shouldn't have done that._ Now there were voices outside the door. And they were angry. He winced again: best case scenario– it could be his friends returning to check if he was here. If so, he would be faced with a lecture of epic proportions for the gory present he left at the door. Second and third options were law enforcement and other thugs. Both would promise him a shitload of trouble. Harry gently shook Adel's shoulder. She stirred and flexed herself in a decidedly feline manner, making certain... parts stand out even more. _Damn, she's lying right on my..._

She opened her eyes and regarded him sleepily. After a couple of seconds she blinked and looked at him with bewilderment.

"Who're you?"

Harry stared at her blankly.

"Uhm... Harry," he answered dubiously. She yawned and palmed her head with a wince.

"Did I hit my head or did someone Obliviate me? I don't seem to remember what happened yesterday after the Cup... ah, wait, you're that cute English guy who doesn't know his water spells," she scrunched her face in concentration and continued, not paying any mind to Harry's slight blush: "I remember that we were going to ask you guys to hang out with us... and... oh sweet Circe, I started drinking..." she paled, jumped from the coach and grabbed his shoulders. "Oh, merciful Hecate, what did I do?!" she asked, horrified. Harry shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Inwardly, he was rubbing his hands with glee.

"Well, you might have started to sing. Nice singing voice, but your diction by that moment... you get the picture."

"Oh gods," she looked a bit ill. Harry drew a breath, trying very hard not to show his amusement at her horror.

"Then you proceeded to snog me," she blanched even stronger. "It was rather nice," he looked up, searching for inspiration. "Or it would be if you hadn't started to call me with different names."

She went from ashen to tomato red in the span of a few seconds. Mentally congratulating himself, Harry nevertheless took pity on her.

"Then there was a lot of noise. The others had already left us by that point. The noise alerted me that something was very wrong. It was a terrorist attack, I think."

She muttered something under her breath, staring at him with the attention of a fatally ill man listening to the doctor.

"We needed to move. You told me you needed to gather your things and hurried inside the tent. I stood outside and..." Harry faltered. It had started to come down on him what exactly it was that he did that night. Marching his strength and forcefully changing his line of thought he continued.

"A couple of thugs attacked me. I burned one, he fainted from pain, I think. The other... well, I knocked him out," Harry lifted his eyes to the ceiling, determinedly **not **looking at Adel. "I left the two outside and stunned the one still alive, then came inside. You were sleeping here. And that's it, I guess," he turned his eyes at her. She was staring at him with a blank expression. After a couple of seconds she opened her mouth, but the door banged open.

"Is there anyone alive here?"

Harry jerked his head in the direction of the voice. Standing in the doorway was a tall man, an Auror, judging by his crimson robes. Noticing them, he shouted outside:

"We've got two kids here!"

Harry rose from the coach and walked to the Auror.

"How are things out there, how many casualties?" He asked, worried about his friends. The Auror winced and walked off, throwing over his shoulder:

"It's bad. Come on out, we'll need your statements."

The pair complied. Harry blinked at the crowd outside: there were at least a couple dozen of Aurors walking about, gathering the evidence and talking in hushed voices.

_Oh, this is bad. OK, plan B: lie. __Lie fast, lie hard, lie constantly. __That and blame the government._

Before he could open his mouth, however, a severe-looking woman asked him and Adel:

"Does one of you know what happened here?"

"It was him!" Adel blurted out, pointing at Harry. He threw a betrayed glance at her. _Well, there goes the innocent act. With Veritaserum there's ultimately a snowball's chance in hell for me to just claim ignorance now._

He sighed as the woman directed her glare at him.

"Well, they attacked me. I defended myself."

"With lethal force?" the woman said in a calm-sounding voice. He did not let the tone fool him – the woman was furious. _What, was one of those guys a relative?_ Harry snorted and glared at her in return.

"What would you suggest – that I should have answered to potentially lethal spells – I'm pretty sure half of the stuff they threw at me was Dark Arts – with **tickling hexes**? And I certainly didn't want to kill anyone!"

She had the good grace to look abashed.

"Nevertheless, you could have used stunners. What did you do to them, by the way?"

Harry shrugged.

"A fire making charm and a simple cutting curse; first year spells, for your information. And by the way, if I hadn't managed to get the last guy, he would have finished casting the Killing Curse."

She looked at the two bodies that were currently being levitated past them._ It seemed that the first guy died as well_. Harry couldn't figure out how he felt about this whole thing. _When will it hit me, I wonder?_

"It was obviously something stronger," the chief officer said disbelievingly. "Then again, stress can amount for the damage..."

Harry shrugged again and looked at the bloody grass. There was a pregnant pause. Then she sighed and told him:

"Hand over your wand."

He snapped his attention to her.

"Why?"

"So that I can determine the truth of your words," she answered plainly. Harry unsheathed his wand warily and gave it handle-first to the woman. She touched it with her own wand.

"_Priori Incantatem._"

A cloud of grey mist came out of the touching tips. A torched figure of the first of Harry's opponents coalesced into being and immediately fell like a puppet with its strings cut, apparently hit by a stunner, before exploding into smoke again. The smoke distorted, dimmed and brightened again, once more forming the figure, this time being cut in half. Half-fascinated, half-horrified, he watched the mist repeat all the spells he had cast in the brief duel, exploding into sparks to indicate a miss or forming a shield to show that it was deflected. After the smoke started to show feather-weight charms he performed on the trip to the Dursleys from Hogwarts, the Auror lady stopped.

"You hit the man you burned with a stunner. You thought he was still alive, I take it?"

"Yes," Harry grimaced. "I think I was in shock back then, after..." he gestured at the red grass marking the place where the sliced guy had been.

"How about you explain it all in order," she said, but they were interrupted. Three Aurors approached them with grim faces.

"Madam Bones, this is bad."

She nodded to the one in the front and he continued:

"We've identified them. It's Maul and Avery. Malfoy seems to know already and is currently raising one hell of a stink and all that company is calling for blood. Do we have a suspect?"

"This young man confessed but pleaded self-defence," she gestured at Harry. The Auror looked at him with sympathy.

"Damn, lad, you're in for it. The purebloods are not going to let it slide. All right, Ma'am, have you already written the protocol?"

"No."

"Well, lad, do you know where your companions are?" the Auror asked, not unkindly. He shrugged.

"Nope. Have you seen the Weasleys around?"

"You're with them? They are running around and looking for someone, must be you. Let's just go find them and sort this mess out."

Harry nodded and gestured in the direction of the Weasley tent. They were walking for a couple of minutes without breaking silence. The boy was contemplating his chances of escaping punishment and mentally reviewing everything he had ever heard about the Magical Law Enforcement and the laws of wizarding society. His companion/guard was whistling something under his breath and examining his surroundings. Along their path the damage was nearly non-existent, the terrorists having chosen some other direction to go.

In no time at all, they have reached the Weasley tents. Harry could clearly see Mr. Weasley standing right in front of it and talking to someone still inside.

"Arthur! Is this the boy you've been looking for?" the Auror shouted. Mr. Weasley turned around with such speed Harry could swear that his boots started to smoke.

"It's Harry! They found him!" he shouted into the tent. Almost immediately the whole group came out of it.

After some back-slapping, hugs and worried questions, Mr. Weasley turned to the Auror.

"Thank you, Derwish. We were worried that one of the Death Eaters got him..."

"Ah, that, by the way, is the reason I'm here. Apparently, the lad managed to get two of the Death Eaters." the Auror smiled grimly. "Maul and Avery won't be around to kill Muggles anymore."

Mr. Weasley blanched and looked at Harry.

"You mean..."

Harry shrugged.

"I had to protect myself."

"Um... Harry? What are you talking about?" Hermione asked fearfully. The boy looked at her – she stared at him with something akin to fear. Fear – for him or of him – that he didn't know, but the mere thought of his friend being afraid of him cut him deeper than any spell.

"Well, there were two bastards throwing curses at me, and I just... reacted. I didn't want to kill them," he explained, frowning and looking down a bit. _I seriously should be freaking out right now. It must not have hit me yet._

"Our Harrikins grew some brass ones," George said, elbowing his twin.

"True, true."

Harry grinned at them, which unnerved them visibly.

"Well, he'll have to be present at the official hearing, so expect an owl in the near future. What is your name, lad?"

Harry looked at his face and as nonchalantly as he could he answered:

"Harry Potter."

The Auror's eyes widened and he glanced at the scar, partially concealed by his hair.

"Merlin," he breathed. After a moment of hesitation he shook his head.

"I don't know if this fact will make it easier for you to get away with it or harder, kid."

_I'd like to know that myself._


	9. The Ministry Mess

**Chapter updated: 22.11.14**

**Author's note**

Okay, this will be a chapter where the true character development begins. I'm nearly giddy at the thought. There will be some fluff, some heavy philosophy and some Umbridge-hating ... And some jokes and Sirius to alleviate the tension. If you like the resulting salad, write a review and tell the chef about it! If you don't, well, do it all the same!

"_What are we looking at?" Harry shuddered a bit as the wind picked up bringing more than a few drops of salty water right at his face._

"_Well, they must have noticed us already. Now all we have to do is wait." Sirius shrugged, sitting on the sand with his legs crossed. His godson snorted._

"_Grand. Wait for what, exactly?"_

"_Either for a welcoming committee, or a giant tsunami that will smash our puny bodies on the rocks."_

"_Puny?" Harry looked at the green water with scepticism._

"_Compared to the waves that the Naga can create – yes."_

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Ministry Mess**

* * *

Harry was sitting in the kitchen of the Burrow, nursing a cup of tea that had already gone cold. His nerves were acting up as he thought of his hearing that would take place in a few short only thing that somewhat calmed him was the huge treacle tart that Mrs. Weasley had baked.

The atmosphere in the Burrow; always cheerful, energetic and homely, was now rather tense. And as loathe as Harry was to admit it, it was his fault. Some of the Weasleys couldn't make up their mind in how they viewed him after he had killed two men, murdering psychopaths or not, and he didn't quite know how to deal with it. To add to his confusion, the date of the Ministry hearing was quickly approaching, and they were feeling very defensive for him.

Fortunately, not everybody in that house was wary of him.

Fifteen minutes after they returned to the Burrow, Hermione and Ron confronted him. After a heated discussion, in which Harry told them in explicit detail how he murdered two human beings, both of them grew silent. Hermione looked at him with horror and pity, while Ron had an alarmingly thoughtful expression on his face. After a pause, Hermione's eyes grew determined and she shook her head vehemently.

"Harry, you and Ron are my first friends. In three years, I have bemoaned your recklessness, your passiveness and the laziness that you adopted from Ron..." the mentioned ginger threw a dirty look at her. "This laziness is what I hate about him. That and his unwillingness to really think anywhere aside from the chessboard."

"I resent that."

"But," Hermione continued, throwing an 'Oh, really?' look at Ron. "I have always admired you two for your personalities, as well. The unwavering bravery, the compassion, Ron's occasionally wise simplicity – he's much like Hagrid in that regard. You don't let me drown in books, and for that I am always thankful."

Harry glanced at Ron, whose ears were now tinged pink. _That was very insightful._

_ "_Apart from the times when it drives me mad, of course," she added, making Ron mutter something, still embarrassed. "The thing that I like about you the most, Harry, is your nobility."

The boy blinked at that.

"You don't even try to be noble. It comes to you as naturally as breathing. Your internal moral compass has not once steered you wrong. And trust me – I know you. Maybe better than you know yourself."

_Unlikely._

"So I think I can say that the person sitting in front of me would never murder another person in cold blood."

_Ouch._

"But then again, if he somehow did that, it does not mean he is truly at fault. He reacted. He wasn't thinking clearly. He was drunk, and he didn't even intend it to happen," Hermione stood up and started to pace. "Regardless, it wouldn't make me reject him, because I know: if that person wouldn't do what he did, he wouldn't be sitting in front of me."

Harry looked in her eyes and suddenly saw that they were brimming with tears.

"Do you know how worried I was? Knowing that you were out there, somewhere, with those... monsters on the loose?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling. Harry shook his head numbly. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Harry threw a questioning look at Ron and he promptly explained:

"When we were running to hide it the forest, we saw them toying with the muggles when the Aurors arrived. They... they killed that family, Harry. The guy who watched the camp … his wife, his children... Just because they were in the way."

Suddenly, the weight of guilt on Harry's shoulders became considerably lighter.

"Don't feel guilty that you killed one of them while defending yourself, Harry."

Harry smiled slightly at her declaration, and then turned to his male friend.

"Ron? What do you think?"

Ron stopped glaring at nothing and shrugged.

"I'm with you, mate. You know that."

After that talk Harry's spirits were somewhat lifted. He still felt extremely uneasy in the house, but it was nice to know he had friends to turn to.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were probably the worst of all. Mostly because they didn't feel that it was right for a child to have blood on his hands – even if he was in the right. Also, Harry thought they were having a hard time processing that the boy they accepted as family was now a killer. They were distressed, and angry – but not at Harry, but at the situation that caused it. That made it both harder and easier for the boy.

Another person who had trouble taking it all in was Ginny. Her crush on Harry, it seemed, did not diminish with time, but from what he could tell this whole mess shattered her view of him as a hero, a Prince Charming on a white stallion. In a way, those events forced her to mature and grow up beyond the childish fantasies. However, Harry found that her new habit of silently watching him, as if she wanted to figure him out, much creepier than her previous "elbow in the butter dish" shyness.

The twins, on the other hand, were much more covert in their observations. He caught them only once, and they turned it all in a joke as usual. Nevertheless, their usual levity was noticeably diminished in his presence – something that he found he did not like at all.

Percy, of course, remained just as aloof as usual, not changing his attitude from constant faint disapproval. Harry just went back to the old habit of ignoring the pompous arse.

Harry persevered.

And finally, the day of reckoning had come.

Harry entered the Ministry of Magic through the entrance for visitors with Mr. Weasley escorting him. The bored wizard at the post "weighed" his wand (or did something else that looked like he weighed it) and they proceeded to the Main Hall of the Ministry. Harry glanced around at the constant flow of people going to and coming from the fireplaces in the walls and with a touch of bitterness noted that nobody he could see stumbled when exiting the Floo and neither did anyone show any sign of queasiness._ Well, it is official – the Floo hates me. Or, perhaps, there's a trick to it I'm not aware of._

Harry looked at a huge golden statue of a wizard and a witch in the midst of various magical creatures and snorted.

"Who in blazes designed this atrocity?" he asked Mr. Weasley. The man shrugged, his gaze lingering at the fountain.

"It has been here for a decade already. I believe that it was Fudge's suggestion, back when he was a Junior Minister working in Magical Disasters. Bagnold thought it a brilliant idea and there you have it," he waved at the instalment. Harry grimaced.

"The sheer pretentiousness of the thing… no goblin would ever have that expression on his face," he nodded at the statue of the goblin that looked at the wizard in adoration. "And neither would a centaur, come to think of it."

They stepped inside a lift together with five random workers, three of whom greeted Mr. Weasley. In a couple of minutes they were walking down a long corridor that reminded Harry vividly of the dungeons back at Hogwarts. The maze of corridors was certainly the same, as was the stink of still air. With each step that Harry took the squirming ball that he felt inside his stomach was growing more and more.

After a couple of minutes of stumbling around the dungeon-like labyrinth they finally found the needed room.

"Room 23: Go on in, I'll wait for you out here," at Harry's questioning look Mr Weasley explained. "I'm not a direct employee of the Law Enforcement, a witness or a relative of one, or a member of Wizengamot, so I'm not permitted to enter," Harry nodded in understanding. "Good luck, Harry."

"Thanks. I'll need it."

Harry swallowed noisily, composed himself with what basic Occlumency that he knew and entered the hall. It was already half-full despite the fact that the hearing was scheduled to start twenty minutes later. He looked around.

The room was spacious, with many rows forming a half-circle opposite a lone stone chair – obviously meant for the one under trial. People in expensive-looking robes were standing around and talking quietly to each other. Many of them obviously used silencing spells. Harry let his eyes wander in the hope that they will pick out a certain person with the most outlandishly coloured clothes, which would be Dumbledore, who could point to him what exactly he was supposed to do here.

Unfortunately for him, the first person to catch his eye was a… woman… female... something who was clothed in pink. What's more, it was the most unholy shade of pink to ever exist outside of an LSD trip of a crazy, lesbian, feminist post-modernist artist after an all-night bender immediately followed by a fundamental arse-kicking.

To add to the pain his brain was going through, the creature in pink vaguely reminded him of a toad.

He wanted to kill that abomination with fire for existing in spite of the notions of the beauty and colour perception.

After Harry managed to tear his eyes from the woman, seeing the robes of Albus Dumbledore was a relief. _Well, bottle-green and red really is a rather calming combination…_

"Professor Dumbledore, good morning!" he greeted the old professor enthusiastically. The Chief Warlock nodded.

"Harry. How are you, my boy?"

Harry shrugged.

"As well as I could be, I suppose. The nerves are getting to me. And there is, of course, the little incident that is the reason for this," Harry waved his hand around, gesturing at everything in the room.

The headmaster's eyes' twinkle dimmed a bit.

"Yes, to kill another sentient being is to stain your soul. No one recovers from this easily."

Harry shivered and stepped a bit closer, lowering his voice.

"That is what I'm concerned with, sir," the old wizard nodded in understanding, but stopped short when he continued. "I think I shouldn't feel remorse. They were sadistic bastards who surely were enjoying murdering innocent bystanders back in the day. They were basically dogs that had to be put down. My mind keeps telling me this, but I... I mean, I know I should not be flippant and uncaring about taking two lives, Death Eaters or not, but…There's also the fact that I didn't intend for that to happen – I mean, I used first year spells!" Harry quieted, lost in his quiet outburst. Professor Dumbledore looked at him sadly, stroking his beard.

"When our hearts refuse to give council, we turn for guidance to our minds. In our lives, there always comes the time when we have to choose between what is easy and what is right. Our willingness to do the latter is what defines our character."

He paused. Harry stared at him in puzzlement.

"But sir, what if I can't understand what would be the right choice?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"These are the hardest decisions you will face. I wish you never came upon such a quandary, but alas, they appear in our way much more often than I would like."

_A philosophical debate, why not? It will distract me from being on edge because of the hearing._

"The world is not black and white. I feel guilty over having killed someone, and I probably shouldn't have done that, but if I didn't, I almost certainly would be dead now. On the other hand, if they were left alive, how many people would they kill? How many deaths would be indirectly on my hands then?"

The headmaster nodded again.

"All good points: In my long life, I have asked myself the same questions many times over and over again. And I have come to some truly sound arguments both for and against taking lives on the battlefield or otherwise that I will be glad to relate to you on a later date," Then, he gestured to the giant clock on the furthest wall. "Alas, the hearing is about to start, so we'd better start. Your seat is over there, with other witnesses. Be calm, answer truthfully, and everything will be well. Good luck, Harry."

The boy nodded and hurried to take his place on the bottom row.

The hearing itself was the finest example of bureaucracy, with endless questioning of the protocol, protests, and searching for precedents in the archives. And that was even before they started to question the witnesses. Harry watched the proceedings with a careful eye, fighting the urge to sleep. Through it all, Lucius Malfoy was mostly silent, trusting his minions to do his work in muddying the waters.

Finally, the Minister, who was de-facto the one in charge of the hearing together with Dumbledore, (though Harry couldn't fathom why exactly it was his responsibility), called for the first witness. It was the guy who first noticed something amiss and called for the Aurors. In the first minute of questioning it became known that the man was a werewolf. This piece of news caused the toad-woman (who evidently was someone important) to start dropping insinuations that it was actually the poor werewolf that was responsible for the events of that night, periodically throwing thinly-veiled insults. The word "half-breed" was used a number of times. _So, not only is she the epitome of ugliness, she's also a major bitch and a bigot. Magnificent._

After that came the Auror who was one of the team who fought the main crowd of the Death Eaters. He said that the perpetrators retreated as soon as it became obvious that they were being actually fought, not taking any chances. Grudgingly he admitted that tactically they were right, as the Auror reinforcements were soon to arrive, and after that the Death Eaters would be simply outnumbered. There were no further questions for the man.

"Harry Potter."

A murmur rose as he walked to the stone seat and sat down, trying to relax with relative (nearly non-existent) success.

"Harry James Potter, born 31 July, 1980, no criminal records … living at #4, Privet Drive, Surrey … correct?" the scribe asked.

"Correct."

"Mr. Potter, what were you doing when the attack began?"

"Snogging," he said, completely deadpan. Murmuring and chuckling rose in the hall, lightening the atmosphere somewhat. Fudge grinned slightly.

"Continue."

"I heard shouts and explosions, which told me that something is wrong. I told my… ahem… friend to take whatever she needed and that we should leave the area. She asked to wait for a few minutes and went inside her tent."

The woman who had interrogated Harry at the time of the incident cut in at that point.

"The girl in question, Ms. Voron, was a foreigner and didn't know anything relevant about the attack."

"Thank you, Madam Bones. Mr. Potter, continue."

"I was waiting outside the tent, when a number of people ran near me towards the forest. Soon after that, I was attacked by two men in black garb wearing skull masks."

"For the record: how were you attacked?" Fudge asked, frowning nervously.

"A cutting curse from my right side. I managed to evade it and threw a basic fire spell in retaliation, which was deflected by one of them but hit the other, burning him. He fell, from what I believed to be shock from acute pain."

"Not from shock," Madam Bones interjected once more. "Mister Avery's brain was boiled in his skull,"

Harry visibly cringed at that statement. "I didn't need to know that. Thank you so very much," Harry muttered, though judging from the reactions of the people around, they all heard it. _First Quirrell, now this Avery – what is it with me and burning people to death?! Granted, Quirrel was finished by Voldemort abandoning ship, but still._

"What happened next?" the scribe said after a few moments once the court had calmed down.

Harry began answering slowly. "For the next couple of minutes I was jumping around dodging spells from the other guy. I knew I was as good as dead if I didn't do something drastic, so I blew up a chunk of earth between us, distracting him and obscuring his view. After doing so, I immediately ran and hid behind the tents. After about five minutes I came out on the other side and brained him with a stick I found on the ground nearby."

"Why did you not run away?" Fudge asked. Harry stared at him in bewilderment.

"Run away? **Run away? **Who do you take me for, exactly? I couldn't just leave my... friend there alone with that bastard!"

Fudge mumbled something unintelligible.

"Why did you not use magic to stun him? Why use a stick?" Madam Bones asked curiously.

"I thought that he would react to a spoken incantation with a shield or dodge my spell, which would waste all my advantage. So I had to resort to clocking him from behind with something blunt but heavy."

"Very well, your reasoning is sound. Go on."

"I sneaked over to him without him hearing me, but when I hit him in the head, it proved insufficient. He turned to me and started to say the words of the Killing Curse. I reacted and fired a Cutting Curse at him."

"The Cutting Curse split Mr. Maul in half," Madam Bones noted, "which points out that it was overpowered because of an adrenaline rush."

"That's what I thought."

"What happened next, Mr. Potter?"

"I stunned the first guy. Then I remembered that Adel was still in the tent and entered it. She was asleep on the sofa. I sat nearby, intending to stay guard, but quickly succumbed to sleep. Next thing I know, one of your Aurors is shouting outside."

"Very well. Any further questions for Mr. Potter?"

"Hem-hem," the abomination in pink coughed, "I believe that Mr. Potter should be charged with two counts of murder."

Harry froze. That was exactly what he was afraid of. Fortunately for him, Madam Bones immediately intervened at his behalf.

"As it was clearly self-defence, no charges will be made, Madam Umbridge."

_Damn, I like that woman. I wonder if she is related to Susan Bones ... Most likely. I should be nicer to Susan this year – she did glare at me constantly during the Heir of Slytherin mess, but by this summer she grew a __**rack**__. _Harry grinned slightly to himself. _Yep, definitely going to be nicer to Susan._

Meanwhile, the toad-woman didn't stop.

"Their... unfortunate choice of activities aside, Mr. Maul and Lord Avery used to be upstanding members of our community, and their deaths..."

"Ex-cuse me!" Harry boggled at her, his temper rising. "I believe that their 'upstandingness'doesn't count if you take in account the little fact that they were friggin' Death Eaters who fully intended to kill me!"

Umbridge grew a bit red, though her sugary smile remained just as wide.

"Mr. Potter, tell me if I get this right. You killed two people in cold blood and you say that you do not regret it?"

Harry glared at her.

"They were murderous bastards. Furthermore, they were pureblood bigots, therefore they were hopeless idiots," Harry paused, somewhat enjoying the rising mutterings. "I find myself facing a moral dilemma. Killing people is against my principles. But killing idiots is a favour to the universe."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. The court has no further questions for you," Madam Bones said hastily.

Harry sighed and rose from the stone chair. After sitting at his place amongst the other witnesses, he started rubbing circles on his forehead.

_Damn, I need to get a hang on my temper. I nearly dug my own grave over there. And if Madam Bones didn't intervene, I would definitely have said something extremely stupid. _Harry glanced at the Head of the DMLE. She met his eyes after a few seconds, and he nodded gratefully. Her expression softened a bit, and she inclined her head briefly.

After that, it was another hour of bureaucracy at its finest, boring as hell. Harry, relieved that he wouldn't be prosecuted for his actions, allowed himself to succumb to sleep. Next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by an amused professor Dumbledore.

"Harry, the hearing is over. I believe that you would rest better on a normal bed – these benches are rather unpleasant to sleep on. So, if you will permit me, shall I escort you to The Burrow?"

"You can say that again, sir," Harry grumbled, getting up and massaging his neck. The headmaster chuckled.

"Yes, I remember that I used to sleep through meetings most of the time when I was young. To alleviate some of my discomfort, I remember conjuring pillows – not that it did me much good. Then the Wizengamot chose me to be made the Chief Warlock, denying me that little bit of comfort that sleep afforded me. Now, I sleep with my eyes open most of the time."

They walked to the exit of the chamber. Harry grinned.

"Is it difficult to learn, sir?"

"It comes to you naturally." The headmaster replied lightly. "Alas, in my age, I have trouble falling asleep even during the budget meetings, and those are capable of making even professor Binns count sheep."

"Professor, may I ask you a question?"

"As I have said once before," Professor Dumbledore replied with a smile, "You already have. But you may, however, ask me one more."

"Why is professor Binns still teaching? He is... not a very good professor, to put it lightly."

Dumbledore sighed.

"This question is asked very often. There are two reasons for that, Harry. First, Cuthbert has always been a genius when it comes to history. He is practically living history himself! His passion for it is undeniable. Yes," Dumbledore nodded seriously at the sceptical look Harry threw him. "Passion... Unfortunately, as it often happens with geniuses, he heavily dislikes teaching the basics. And everything that is not Mastery level to him is basic. Now, imagine repeating something that is extremely boring to you for a couple of centuries non-stop."

"Ah. So he's bored himself."

"Indeed."

"That explains it. You mentioned a second reason, sir."

"Yes. The second reason, Harry, is much more prosaic in nature. Money."

The boy looked at him blankly for a couple of seconds, and then snapped his fingers in a flash of understanding.

"Ah, you don't pay a wage to a ghost!"

"Yes. As I said; a much more prosaic reason. For many years Minerva has been waging war with the Board of Governors for the better financing, and she has not made any significant progress as of yet."

For a couple of minutes they walked in silence. Finally, reaching the main hall, they walked to the closest Floo and with two 'whoosh' sounds left for the Burrow.

Immediately after stumbling out of the fireplace, Harry was immediately accosted by Hermione and Ron, who directed anxious and questioning looks at him. When he tiredly smiled and nodded at them, Hermione shouted "Yes!" and tackled him with a hug, which nearly caused him to topple over. Ron grinned and thumped him in the shoulder while Dumbledore stood slightly aside and twinkled merrily at the scene.

Not ten seconds later, when Hermione barely started asking questions, Mrs. Weasley entered the room, wiping her hands with a towel.

"You've returned! Oh, good evening, Albus! I assume everything went all right?"

"Good evening, Molly. And yes, you assume correctly. All possible charges to Harry were dropped before they could even be stated."

"That is wonderful news! I have almost finished making dinner. Will you stay, Albus?"

The old headmaster smiled thoughtfully.

"Well, I have a lot of paperwork to do tonight..."

"Please stay, professor. Paperwork certainly won't escape your office if you allow yourself to stay for one meal," Harry joked. Dumbledore laughed at that.

"Oh, very well. If I have insomnia, I may very well take advantage of that. And by the way, you would be surprised to hear that about a decade ago my budget orders and admission notes did exactly that, after deciding to take the newest timetables with them as company."

"How?" the boy's eyebrows rose slightly.

"Well, later on, I found out that a student was trying to learn the Summoning charm without saying the incantation and focused on a slightly vague mental picture of what he wanted. Unfortunately, the boy overpowered the spell in his concentration and soon the door and windows in his dorm were barricaded with parchment," the old professor explained cheerfully, sitting down on the closest chair and eyeing the food-laden dishes in front of him with appreciation.

Hermione giggled nervously at that.

Dinner passed by with a relaxed air, seeing as the tension that accumulated for the last week – ever since the Cup – left as if it never existed. No one was looking at Harry with wariness or pity. Instead, Mrs. Weasley kept putting more food on his and professor Dumbledore's plates, evidently aiming to turn them into immovable blobs by overfeeding them, Mr. Weasley was keeping a rather upbeat conversation with Percy regarding the latter's career and Ron was, for once, minding his manners and keeping silent as he tore into his portion with gusto. The twins were whispering something amongst each other, and Hermione was trying to listen in – with not much luck so far.

As for Harry … well, he had a topic to discuss with the headmaster.

"Professor? Will we have dementors in school this year?"

The old wizard hummed and swallowed a piece of honey pie before answering:

"Fortunately, no, I persuaded the Head of the Auror Office to send four Auror Trainees to serve as guards. In addition, I have called an old friend of mine to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Friend?" Harry prompted, knowing the quirky headmaster enough to guess that he was waiting for him to ask.

"Alastor Moody, the best Auror in many, many decades. He is now retired and only occasionally serves as a consultant in the Auror Office. I expect that he will be of great help to the students, seeing as the teachers we had in the past five years have been... less than satisfying."

Harry nodded and shared a look with Hermione, who gave up trying to discern if the twins were planning mischief and instead started listening to his conversation with Dumbledore.

"Good. We got lucky with professor Lupin, and we would like to have a good teacher again. I hope this is a start of a new better trend," Harry grew silent for a moment, and then finally asked: "Sir, did you ask Mr. Moody to help guard the castle?"

"I did, in fact. Moody taught Black for a while and knows how he thinks. He has more of a chance to catch him than anyone else."

Harry nodded again, smiling grimly.

_Wherever you are, Black, I hope you're enjoying yourself. Your luck is not going to last for long._

**Las Vegas**

"All in!" Sirius crowed, pushing the chips in front of him to the centre of the table.

"You're bluffing. All in," his last opponent grinned, doing the same. Then he threw his cards on the table with a flourish. "Full house! Take that, loser!"

Sirius snorted and turned the cards he had on the table face up.

"Royal Flush, kid, you're out."

Inwardly, he was shaking with laughter at how so damn **easy **it was to win from Muggles. Some rudimentary Legilimency and Occlumency was enough to secure a win. So far, he hasn't hadn't lost once, and his brand new bank account was growing swiftly. A couple of casinos had already banned him and sent his photo to the rest, but a few glamour charms took care of that particular little problem.

_Yes, _Sirius decided, _I have had quite a lot of luck so far. Still, it's not going to last for long._ He grinned and took his winnings, eyeing the strippers on the other side of the casino hall. _But boy am I going to enjoy myself!_

**Kings Cross station, 1****st**** September**

"I wonder if they have ever got here in time," Harry told Hermione. They both were running beside the Weasleys, who – as always – were late for the Hogwarts Express.

"Not since the twins went to Hogwarts, we haven't," Ron grunted, his face slightly red from the exertion already. "They always turn the departure into a spectacle."

"True," Harry smiled slightly. The whole morning could be described with one word: chaos. The departure for Hogwarts would be a rather disorganized and noisy endeavour regardless, but the twins just had to add that spark that ignited the figurative forest fire.

The end result was two hours of everybody shouting, running, loudly opening and closing doors, peppered by an occasional explosion. In the middle of it all, the twins never stopped grinning.

"All... right," Mrs. Weasley huffed, waving at the column that contained the doorway to the 9¾ Platform. "Fred, George, you're first. Ron, Harry, you're next. Hermione, Ginny and I will come last."

The twins winked at them and walked over to the barrier nonchalantly. Then, in the blink of an eye, they vanished in the stone surface.

"Let's move," Harry muttered and picked up his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Ron followed him as they walked over the portal at a brisk pace.

Five seconds later, they were at the platform. As they thought, the train was set to leave in a minute. The boys ran towards it, quickly throwing their trunks inside and turning around to do the same with the possessions of the caught-up girls. Then they followed their trunks' example and embarked on the train themselves, pausing in the doors to give a wave to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

The quartet set out to the last carriage, as was their custom.

"This one's empty. Come on."

With a grunt Harry crashed on the left seat by the window. Hermione sat on his right with much more elegance, while Ron followed Harry's example with the other seat. Ginny shrugged and sat near her brother.

"Well, what do you think our new Defence professor will be like?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged.

"From what Dumbledore said, this Moody person sounds competent enough," Harry noticed an expression of disbelief on his friend's face. "What?"

"Did you say 'Moody'?"

"Yes," Harry lifted a brow.

"As in _the_ Mad-Eye Moody, the legendary Auror?"

"Yes."

"Wow. Dad told us about him a couple of times. Said that the man was absolutely priceless in the war and in the cleaning up that came afterwards. He filled half of Azkaban by himself."

"Really?" Harry was really looking forward to the lessons. "Must have made some enemies."

"Yeah. Dad also mentioned that Moody was extremely paranoid. I guess that a lifetime of catching bad wizards will do that for ya."

Harry nodded thoughtfully as Ron scrunched his brow.

"What did Dumbledore say, exactly?"

Hermione looked at him in bewilderment as if their ginger friend just told her that he had gone to the moon and eaten the cheese it's made of, creating the Russell crater.

"Ron, he told us all when he stayed over for dinner. Are you telling me you didn't hear it?"

The boy shrugged sheepishly in answer.

"Well, you always told me not to speak while I'm eating, so now I'm always tuning out the conversation around the table. Remove the temptation, you know?"

Harry caught a look of surprise that Ginny sent to her brother. Hermione stared at him for a long moment, and then shook her head.

"I don't know if I should be pleased that you have elected to follow my advice, for once, or irritated that you've chosen such a radical way," she pinched the bridge of her nose and smiled. "Well, I guess it works, so carry on. We'll just have to clue you in anything important that you might miss."

Harry directed a faux amazed look at his friend.

"Ron, you made Hermione pleased with you!"

The ginger grinned, catching on immediately.

"Somebody, check the temperature in hell! It must be chilly there!"

Hermione hid her head in her hands with a dismayed groan.

"You're impossible. As soon as I think you are making progress, you are immediately sliding back! You can be such... children sometimes!"

"Baby steps, Hermione," Harry joked with a smile and a light shove. "And you love us for it, you admitted it yourself."

"That I did," the girl reluctantly admitted.

"Speaking of childishness, who's up for a game of Exploding Snap?" Ginny asked her head inclined to the side, making her resemble a flaming red puppy. Ron readily jumped onto the suggestion and Harry followed suit with a careless shrug. Hermione politely declined, taking a book out of her bag, but she nevertheless sometimes lifted her eyes to check how they were doing.

After Ron's second defeat, when Harry was gleefully making quips at his friend's expense (he possibly enjoyed the fact that he won too much, but after his constant humiliation at chess, he couldn't resist) the door of their cabin was opened.

"...nope, here I'm the king, Ron," Harry finished, and without bothering to turn to the left to see who had come, raised his voice: "Piss off, Malfoy."

"Are you talking to Malfoy's Doppelmuncher?"

The boy blinked and looked at the new arrival.

"Oh, hello, Luna. No, I am not. You see, dearest Drakey-poo," Ron choked in laughter at the nickname that they once overheard Pansy Parkinson use last year, "has taken it as his sacred duty to grace us with his exalted presence each time we are on the Hogwarts Express. So, I made a logical leap and deduced it was him that the wind carried to our little remote cabin in the wilderness of the last carriage. Fortunately, it seems that Lady Karma has decided to throw me a boon and instead of my least favourite blonde I get my most favourite blonde as a companion on the long road to the castle. Will you sit with us?"

Hermione was staring at him. Yes, she saw him acting like that the last time they were in the train, when Luna also was with them, but still she couldn't understand what made her friend so verbose in the girl's presence.

If asked, Harry wouldn't be able to answer that question himself. But there was something about the waif of a girl that made him much more relaxed than he was normally. And relaxed Harry came in two variants: thinking-deep-thoughts-and-contemplating-the-matters-of-universe or the Amazing Talking Harry. Right now, it was the latter that made an appearance.

"Sure," Luna smiled and sat near Ginny, who immediately freed her some space.

"So, how was your summer?" Harry asked. Luna twirled a lock of hair around her finger.

"Pleasant. My father and I went to travel again."

"Oh? Where to?"

"Finland. There was a sighting of a Blaggarosh there. Father couldn't pass up such an opportunity," the girl explained, dropping her shoes, lifting her legs on the seat and hugging them. Harry caught an exasperated look from Hermione and rolled his eyes. After the last year's trip from Hogwarts to London Harry asked her to give Luna a chance and **not **to start arguing the existence of the many creatures Luna believed in.

"A sighting? Do tell," he asked, smiling mischievously. _Something tells me that this is going to be good._

"A man was admitted into a mental hospital raving about Eldritch Abominations and tentacles. All signs of a Blaggarosh encounter," was the cheerful answer.

Harry blinked. _Not what I expected. Then again, this is Luna. Unexpected is the name of the game._

The next half-an-hour or so were spent in a pleasant discussion. Even the mention of the events on the Quidditch Cup didn't mar Harry's mood. In fact, Luna managed to take his mind off the chaos that followed a very pleasant evening by mentioning that she had seen him with Adel in the post-match celebration. When Harry, completely dumbfounded, asked her how he hadn't seen her, she shrugged and told him she didn't expect him to notice anything apart from the foreign girl's tongue, which made him rather red in the face.

"Are you feverish, Harry?" she asked innocently. Hermione and Ron glanced at her in bewilderment and then turned to look at Harry, as if asking "Is she joking?" The boy directed a mock-bewildered stare at the blonde girl. He was starting to figure out when she was serious and when she simply used her seeming simplicity and innocence to take the mickey out of other people by asking embarrassing questions.

"No, I believe I am in good health."

"Strange. Do you know that Purple Puredonners can cause their host's skin to become red sometimes?" _Oh, that innocent expression should be illegal. Well, if she has to joke in this manner..._

"What would it mean if only the ears become red?" Harry asked in a worried tone. A corner of Luna's mouth twitched, but her voice remained calm.

"It means that it is the infested area. It can be fatal, you know. They can get to your brains if they nest in your ears."

"Do they eat brains?" Harry asked in a slightly trembling tone, looking at Ron with fear and violently suppressing his laughter.

"No, they don't. But they mark your brains with their droppings, and that usually influences your manners and the sense of tact," the girl answered serenely, completely dispelling any doubts in Harry's mind about her being serious. Judging by her expression, Hermione had also caught on and was biting her lips so as not to smile.

"Oh Merlin! Ron, we need to get you to Madam Pomfrey!" Harry grasped his friend's hands and started to shake them in faux panic. Ron boggled at him.

"Hey! Harry! Let me go!"

"No! I can't let the Purple Puredonners' excrement in your brains! No friend of mine will become a shithead!" Harry howled, deciding to seriously ham it up.

"Oy! Mate! Bugger off!" Ron tried to swat at him and this quickly grew into a little wrestling match, by the end of which both boys were sweating and grinning and girls were smiling at their antics.

The rest of the train ride went in the same light-hearted vein. Malfoy didn't show up, and seeing as he didn't visit them on the train ride to London last year, this could be a start of a new trend. Or the blond ponce had decided to just grow up a bit and not spoil the ride to all of them and himself as well.

In one group they disembarked the train, waving their hellos to Hagrid, who called the first-years to him. The answering (very enthusiastic) wave from their friendly neighbourhood half-giant knocked down two little firsties. Harry shook his head in exasperation at the loud apologies of his first friend.

The company managed to fit into one of the carriages, but only just. By next year, they would definitely have to use two. Harry blinked at the skeletal-looking horses that were driving the contraptions.

"What are these things?" he asked, sitting up on his seat. Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Those horses. They are... weird. And I don't remember them being here last year. I wonder if they forgot to renew the animation charms on the carriages and had to use horses..." he paused and shook his head. "No, that doesn't make any sense."

"They are called thestrals. They were always here, you just couldn't see them," Luna interrupted while others looked at them both as if afraid for their sanity.

"Why?"

"They can only be seen by those who saw death," was the calm answer. Harry frowned and lowered his eyes.

"I see."

"There really are horses?" Ron lifted his eyebrow. At Harry's nod, he turned to Luna. "When did you see death, then?"

Immediately after voicing this question, the boy cringed and hastily added: "If you don't mind telling us, of course."

"It's all right. My mother died when I was eight. She was experimenting with spell creation," the girl's tone became even more serene. Ron rubbed his head and threw an awkward glance at her.

"I'm sorry for asking."

"It's fine."

The rest of the short trip went in silence. The tense atmosphere started to lighten with their approach to the castle. Harry smiled when after a turn of the road they came into view of Hogwarts The sight never ceased to amaze him and lift his spirits.

"Home," he murmured without realizing it.

They entered the castle, routinely dodging Peeves' greeting water balloons. After one of them clipped Harry in the shoulder, the boy swore at the sudden shock of icy water meeting his skin, took out his wand and dried himself.

"Next time, make sure the water's warm!" he shouted at the cackling poltergeist. "As in, the **warm **welcome!"

The little pest mock-saluted him and threw another balloon at the pair of Slytherin girls that just entered. One of them immediately shielded herself, making the projectile smash and burst on the transparent defence, but it didn't stop the water.

"And that is why you dodge," Harry muttered to Ron, who nodded with a slight grin. Together, they entered the Great Hall. After a quick goodbye, Luna went skipping to the Ravenclaw table, and the four Gryffindors sat at their table opposite the twins, who already were there.

"Finally," Ron grumbled, putting his head on his hands. "Wake me up when the food's here."

"Are you really going to sleep?" Harry asked half-seriously. Ron lifted his head just enough to stare at him with a bland expression.

"No. I'm entering a hunger coma," was the deadpan answer, after which the ginger dropped his head again. Harry snorted and turned towards Fred and George.

"You know, sometimes I worry about him."

"It happens, Harrikins," Fred nodded solemnly. "It will pass."

"Honestly, you four," Hermione huffed and turned to Ginny to engage in a conversation that, for once, will not deteriorate into endless jokes.

Ten minutes later, the procession of first-years entered the hall, looking ruffled, scared and so damn **little**. Harry sighed and told Hermione.

"To think that as long as we're still here, the first thought in our heads when we see the new students will always be 'was I that small?'"

She smiled and nodded. The sorting was starting, but Harry found himself otherwise occupied.

He surveyed the teacher's table with interest while distractedly clapping to a tall for his age boy joining Gryffindor. This year there were much more people there than usual. He looked at an incredibly intimidating fellow that sat near Flitwick. _Damn, that is a lot of scars… The only person I remembered being as disfigured was the previous Care of Magical Creatures professor, don't remember his name. He must be that Moody person._

Slightly shivering at the sight of an undoubtedly artificial eye, he looked at the rest of the newcomers. They were all wearing red robes indicating their occupation as Aurors. Harry smiled – the lack of dementor presence plus Aurors being in the castle… it seemed that the Powers That Be in the Ministry decided to extract their heads from their arses and assign some proper guards to the school.

After the sorting was complete, Dumbledore rose from his place at the table.

"Welcome new students and old! There are a couple of announcements to be made," he said jovially. "But for now – tuck in!"

"Hear, hear," Ron muttered, lifting his forehead from the table as the food appeared. Harry snickered and proceeded to load his plate with pork chops.

"I must say, I am looking forward to the Defence classes this year," Hermione said, nodding at Moody, who was – almost demonstratively – drinking from a flask instead of the goblet in front of him. Harry nodded.

"Yep, me too. Though he is kind of creepy."

"That he is. I wonder what the deal is with his eye. I never thought there's such a thing as a magical prosthesis."

"Oh, there are. There are ugly as hell and from what we've heard, rather uncomfortable, but they are better than trying to walk around missing a part of your body," George supplied with a slight grin. Harry lifted his brows in sardonic amusement.

"You have researched prosthetics. Were you afraid that one of your experiments might go wrong?"

"Ah, Harrikins, don't be so naive. We were sure that every other experiment of ours will go wrong at some point or other."

"What is life without some risk?" Fred mused, a sage expression on his face. "And what is life of two young, handsome..."

"And brilliant!"

"...and brilliant inventors without some excitement?"

Harry slowly shook his head with a bemused frown on his face.

"You two are something else, you know that?"

"Why, Harry, I thought that you out of all people would agree."

The boy's frown shifted into a mischievous smile.

"Who said I don't?"

"You'd better eat instead of talking," Hermione advised, "the feast is going to end soon enough."

After ten minutes Dumbledore rose again, and the plates along with their contents vanished.

"Now, to business! First, our caretaker, Argus Filch, asked me for the umpteenth time to remind you that magic in corridors is against the rules. The newest version of the List of Restricted Items can be found near Mr. Filch's cabinet. Also, it is my painful duty to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is out of limits for the students. The various flora and fauna living there are rare and exciting, but, alas, somewhat lethal to an unprepared and inexperienced wizard," he waited out the muttering with a beaming smile, drastically conflicting with his words.

"Now, to more fresh news: This year, the duty of teaching the subject of Defence against the Dark Arts is going to be fulfilled by Alastor Moody. I'm sure you will make him feel welcome within our halls," Dumbledore said. Harry looked at the indicated one-and-a-half-eyed fellow bemusedly._ Is it just me or does our esteemed Headmaster enjoy making somewhat ridiculous statements in order to make people doubt his sanity? If so, then his delivery is perfect._

"In addition to that, as you may have already noticed, Hogwarts is no longer guarded by dementors," he waited out the cheers. "Yes, your relief is understandable. However, Sirius Black is still out there, and the school needs protection. In light of this, let us greet the Aurors that will be stationed in our school for this school year," the people in red cloaks stood up to the applause.

"Is her hair... purple?" Hermione asked in bewilderment, nodding at the young woman in the middle of the Aurors.

"It is. I wonder why..." Harry shut up when the aforementioned hair turned green in a blink of an eye. He scratched the back of his head with a puzzled expression.

"This year is getting more interesting by the minute."


	10. The Vigilant and the Sadistic

**Chapter updated: 22.11.14**

**Author's note**

Blast it, I'm sorry, guys. I got this chapter messed up when I originally posted it. I've hopefully mitigated the damage, but... well.

TRAINING SEQUENCE!

"_What purpose could you have to study anatomy?"_

"_Are you kidding? This stuff is amazing! It's one thing to know some little titbits of how our bodies work, but knowing it all is... fascinating!" Harry's eyes shone with unholy glee. Sirius shuddered._

"_A-ha. You know, you scare me sometimes, kid."_

"_I know. I scare myself when I'm thinking about what exactly I'm going to do with this," Harry lifted the anatomy book, "and that book about body enhancement and tissue manipulation I've got from the library. Ooooh, so many IDEAS!"_

"_I just wanted to help," Sirius grumbled, opening his flask of calming potion and knocking it down quickly. "I didn't mean to create a monster."_

* * *

**Chapter 10: The Vigilant and the Sadistic**

The next morning saw Harry down in the kitchens as usual. The elves, it seemed, had gotten used to him cooking for himself and no longer pestered him. Sometimes their behaviour when around Harry indicated that they thought of him not as a master, but as an equal. Of course, if they noticed it, they would become incredibly flustered and start apologizing and/or bashing their heads with the crockery. When he waved off the apologies they would look at him weirdly and carry on. _Maybe I'm starting to rub off on them. Merlin knows I'm slowly getting to like the little guys. Not that I trust them; that is still a very, very far prospective, considering the fact that I still believe them to be functionally insane._

Harry sat at the table directly under where the Gryffindor table was in the Great Hall, raining genocide on the eggs and obliterating the toasts, while slowly and methodically eradicating the coffee reserves in his proximity. Hermione and Ron were sitting across of him, both opting to go with house-elf prepared food. Hermione has long since abandoned her quest for elf freedom, but still occasionally indulged in cooking. The whole SPEW business got thrown out of the window when Harry, who got rather tired of his friend's enthusiasm, found a book in the library that stated that the so-called house elves were not elves at all – the actual elves have left the magical world. Guess Tolkien got some of his facts right. Where they were now, no one knew – and those who did kept silent. The house elves were in fact enslaved minor demons that lived on the isles long before humans came here. They had a large population and an ability to sync and unite their power to accomplish large-scale feats, enormous-scale feats of magic, if the book was to be believed. To make it all a problem, they were extremely mischievous and aggressive beings that enjoyed pranking people to death. So, when the first wizards – the Celtic druids – appeared in Britain, they didn't take long before declaring an all-out war with the imps. The little shits had been winning up until the Romans came to the isles, bringing the joys of civilization, pillaging, rapes, mass executions and most importantly, the concept of wands. Wands were much more precise than the primitive staves the druids used while not losing in power, and in a couple of decades the imps were all but exterminated. The pathetic remains of their once flourishing people were all enslaved by an ancient Roman curse that bound their magic to that of a wizard, utilizing their ability to sync their cores with others. Insidious and positively brilliant, Harry had to say, even if very immoral (Hermione hit him with that book when he told her that). Therefore, the imps were forced to do the bidding of their masters. After about ten generations the severe losses in that war started to show their consequences, and the inbreeding was what finally snapped the collective spine of a once proud race. Harry remembered thinking grim thoughts about parallels between the used-to-be-imps and their magical masters. One only had to look at Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Bulstrode... hell, about 40% of the Slytherin and 10% of the purebloods from the other houses actually looked inbred. The magical world was swiftly going to hell in a hand basket. _I wonder if other countries have the same problem._

The quietly eating trio was approached by Dropsy, the elf that was second-in-command of the kitchens (he was extremely clumsy, so the other elves trained him to be a good manager so that he would be helping out without actually working). He coughed and gave them all a sheepish look.

"Miss Makgonal wantses you all to comes to her after breackefaste."

_ Merlin, I can't quite discern if the elves' accents are adorable enough to give me diabetes or annoying the crap out of me._

"Fine, we'll come. Thank you, Dropsy," he nodded to him. The little bugger beamed at the boy proudly and left skipping.

"What'd you reckon this is about?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged and scooped up the last toast.

"Our schedules, I expect. But there must be something more to it. Otherwise she would have just given them to Dropsy."

Hermione nodded and reached for a napkin. Harry rose and stretched a bit.

"Damn, I'm full. Let's go find out what McGonagall wants, shall we?"

Ten minutes later they stood in front of their Head of House.

"There you three are. Here are your schedules. Please note that you don't have anything for today due to the Transfiguration lessons being put on hold. That spectral delinquent Peeves has annihilated all the materials and freed the animals in the castle. Insufferable pest."

Harry carefully controlled his face, not allowing his amusement at the vexed look McGonagall was wearing to show. It was the first time he heard McGonagall call anyone names. The professor shook her head, as if warding away thoughts about a certain mischievous spirit, and continued in her usual brisk tone:

"Let me congratulate you for your impressive results in the last year's exams. Mr. Weasley, you impressed me. It is rare that such a drastic change in a student's attitude happens. Carry on."

Ron puffed up with pride. True, it was mostly Hermione who forced him to do his homework, but these days she only had to remind him to do something. Once he started working, he didn't need additional stimuli, as long as his friends were also doing something and not glaringly lazing about in his vicinity (not that it happened often).

"That will be all for now. Mister Potter, we have one more topic to discuss," she dismissed Ron and Hermione and summoned two thick files from a shelf near her desk. After the duo left, throwing curious glances at Harry and the professor, she smiled that tight-lipped smile slightly wider than she usually did and said:

"The reason I wanted to talk to you was the tutoring I promised to you last year. As you had new classes to adapt to, I had to shelve the idea. Now, however, I believe you will be able to handle it, if you are still willing, of course."

Harry frowned, trying to recall the details of the promised lessons, but for the life of him he couldn't remember anything of the sort.

"I'm always up for some individual work, of course, but I have forgotten what exactly we were talking about."

She looked vaguely amused at his words.

"Well, as it was I who tutored you to use transfiguration as an instrument of a duel, it is time for professor Flitwick to teach you."

_ How could I forget this?! Private lessons with Flitwick equalled duelling. This is __**huge**__. _Harry couldn't help but grin and nod.

Quickly.

Many times.

When he finally exited the room, excited beyond belief, and was set upon by a curious Hermione, he couldn't get his thoughts together to answer her questions for a while.

**The same day, 7 pm, the office of Filius Flitwick**

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," professor Flitwick squeaked, jumping off his chair.

"Good evening, professor. Rumour has it that the former duelling champion is not opposed to teaching a couple of tricks to a humble student," Harry replied, smiling slightly.

"Oh, indeed. Minerva told me of your interest, and Merlin knows she never shuts up about your prowess during the weekly meetings," the half-goblin said, walking briskly to the door in the back of his office. The boy blinked. _McGonagall was __**bragging **__about me?_

_I guess I now know why Snape is even more snappish than usual. Heh._

Following the tiny professor, he entered a big hall, bare but for a low podium. It was clearly a duelling chamber.

"Well, Mr. Potter, let us start from the beginning. How would you go about fighting in a duel?" Professor asked, shrugging off his robes and turning to him. Harry shrugged.

"Play it by ear, may… Merlin!" he barely dodged a silver spell that raced the space between them as quick as lightning. The next second he had to jump back so to ensure that a pink stream of light didn't hit him. The following pulse of light, orange in colour, forced him to duck. Harry took out his wand and pointed it in the general direction of his professor while rolling to the side.

"_Depulso!_"

A grey, almost completely translucent half-dome rose between them, blocking the Banisher and two follow-up jinxes with a melodic tinkling. Harry frowned. _Is this a test?_

The shield dissolved in a second, allowing for three spells to come at the boy in a quick progression, and evasion was growing much more difficult by the minute. _I have to end this quickly without implementing anything fatal from my arsenal._ _Flitwick wouldn't be very pleased if I threw flames at him, would he? Well, okay, in the best case, he would be_. Harry jumped over a bright green jet and swished his wand, pushing his strength into the spell in his mind.

"_Expulso!_"

A telekinetic bubble formed on the tip of his wand. Just as he launched it, however, he blacked out while seeing red light.

When he came to his senses, he was lying in a heap on the floor, and Flitwick stood above him, frowning and holding his wand slightly to the side.

"Mr. Potter. Please explain your strategy and why it didn't work."

Harry jerked his neck, receiving a loud crack at the motion, and sat on the floor.

"As such, there wasn't a plan. I was caught unawares and forced to come up with something on the spot. My main strength currently is Transfiguration, but there was nothing here to transfigure. I can conjure small objects, but my conjurations tend to be slow and I need to really concentrate for them to work. Therefore, you would easily be able to get me while I try to make anything from the air. So, I had to stick with direct magic. The only non-lethal curse that I know besides the usual school yard jinxes that would be suitable in a duel is the exploding charm. Besides the time needed to incant the spell, it requires a second to power up, but it compensates for it with its stopping force. Of course, it wouldn't be a good trade off in case when your opponent stuns you mid-cast, as was the occasion here," Harry grimaced. Flitwick regarded him thoughtfully, his wand twirling in the tiny hands.

"Well, I'm afraid that in a duel such magic is more of a dead weight, Mr. Potter. Do you know the first rule of magical engagement?"

The boy shook his head. The professor hummed and gestured for him to rise before conjuring himself a table that sprang up right from under him, lifting him to Harry's eye-level. Then he intoned slowly and clearly:

"First rule of the duelling by Filius Flitwick – be faster than your enemy in everything."

Harry nodded slowly, seeing the truth in his words.

"So long incantations and spells requiring power-up time are a no-go?"

Flitwick frowned and jerked his wand. Harry felt as if somebody knocked him on the temple.

"Tell me now in which circumstances the use of long incantations would be permitted while not being a sitting duck."

Harry started pacing.

"Well, I suppose it would be acceptable if I used it while my opponent is in no condition to retaliate – but then, I would have an arsenal of quicker spells that would do just as well. Also, it could be used in a sneak attack if I threw up a silencing ward as to not alert the bad guy…" Harry stopped and turned to the professor. "Lastly, it could be my attack of desperation. That is all I can think of right now."

He nodded.

"I would recommend its usage in surprise attacks. Magical fighting is divided in two categories: duelling and actual fighting. The first is… civilized, let's say, and ordered. It has rules. The real fighting is at the same time much simpler and more complex. We will be working with the basic concepts of the second type of engagement. I sincerely doubt you entertain a dream of becoming a professional duellist like yours truly."

Harry shook his head thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure about what I will do in the future – I have only some vague wishes, nothing more."

"As is to be expected," the diminutive professor tisked. "Now, what I will be teaching you is not just some fancy spells and curses to throw at your future enemies. Not to say that it won't be a part of what I've prepared for you."

Harry suddenly felt a bit wary at his grin – it was a bit too much like the goblins' at that moment. Only then did he realize with a frightening clarity that Flitwick was, in fact, a half-goblin.

"What I will try to teach you is how to **think **in the heat of battle. Mr. Potter, from what I have seen in you, you have the gift to be a very, very good tactician, and by Merlin I will do my utmost to nurture it," the grin became even wider, growing slightly manic. "But today, we will work on what you already have. After all, I have to assess your level."

_I'm doomed._

**Next day, 8.30 am, the kitchens**

"Harry?"

"Uhrm... what?"

The boy was nursing a cup of tea and a tremendous headache.

"Why aren't you eating?" Hermione asked. Harry raised a dull gaze to her and shifted it to the elf which stopped by just then, seemingly worried about him.

"Hey, Thunky..."

"It's Sunkey, young master," the little critter interrupted.

"Right. Sunkey, could you please give me something to eat? I really can't force myself to cook anything right now..."

The grin on the elf's face was positively luminescent. With an excited "right-away, master!" he skipped over to the other elves. Harry curved his lips into a slight smile and propped his elbow on the table while resting his head on the hand.

"Damn... I'm sooo knackered."

"Harry, what happened yesterday? Did the lesson go well? We stayed up late, but we didn't see you!" Hermione was looking at him with worry. The boy groaned in remembrance.

"Well, I was with Flitwick. He taught me, all right."

"Duelling?" Hermione asked, remembering what she knew about the half-blood professor. Harry tsked.

"Not... exactly. Yesterday, he just told me to improvise while he threw spells at me for a couple of hours," he shivered. "Let me tell you this: he has a sadistic streak that would rival a full goblin. I thought I'd die when I was walking to the tower. In fact, I nearly collapsed halfway there."

"Really?" Hermione inhaled. "That's horrible!"

"Yep. I had to pause for a minute and walk slowly," Harry lied through his teeth. No way in hell would he tell **anyone **what really happened. He wouldn't be able to live this down as it is. Hopefully, the girl wouldn't talk about it.

_Fat chance of that, though. She seemed far too amused at the situation._

**11.30, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom**

The trio were amongst the first to enter the class and quickly made to the front row. Harry looked around in curiosity, appreciating the things that the new teacher had hung on the walls – an assortment of posters with various Dark creatures, a stand with cut-off Prophet articles, some pictures of what seemed to be Death Eaters and a couple of mannequins. Students were trickling inside the room, taking their seats and casting wary glances around. For some reason, few of them talked. The atmosphere of anticipation combined with the scary exterior of their new professor and the wild rumours that spread about him across the castle had managed to intimidate many of them.

Five minutes after the last student arrived, the door banged open again, allowing the twisted figure of their new professor inside.

"These years," he rasped, walking to the board, his wooden leg clacking on the floor and his fake magical eye swirling around, pausing now and then on different faces, "the quality of education in this castle has become disturbingly low when it comes to the subject I've been asked to teach. In the last ten years, there were only two more or less competent teachers. Two! And then the ministry wonders why there are less Aurors on the field."

He whirled around and started writing on the board with furious speed.

"Now, Lupin got you up to speed when it comes to the Dark Creatures. But you don't know a thing about fighting a wizard besides some joke hexes. I will correct that!"

He stomped over to his chair.

"Now, who knows what the Viggnir's classification is? You," he pointed at Hermione, who got her hand up in the air nearly before he finished asking the question.

"The Viggnir's classification regards all combat spells of direct effect, breaking..."

"Meaning?" Moody growled. Hermione blinked.

"Sorry?"

"Define 'direct effect'!" he asked impatiently.

"The direct effect spells are active combat spells that target living beings."

"True enough. It means that the curse is thrown right at your face and can be deflected with some sort of shield, provided that you have enough power to pull it off. The only exception to this rule is the Killing Curse, but it is a topic for a later lesson," Moody nodded to Hermione. "Very well, five points to Gryffindor. What's your name, lass?"

"Hermione Granger."

Moody's magical eye scanned the attendance sheet while his normal one studied the girl's face.

"So you're the one that Minerva won't shut up about," he grumbled, causing the girl to smile in elation. "Now, can anyone else tell me what Viggnir based his classification on?" Harry raised his hand and after Moody pointed at him, answered.

"He basically divided all direct spells into jinxes, hexes and curses. Jinxes are the spells that are designed to discomfort, trap, immobilise and obstruct the enemy. Hexes are meant to affect the senses and to a minor degree, the mind as well, and range from tickling and confusing spells to stunners. Curses, in their turn, have the potential to cause bodily harm or even kill their targets. Blasting curses, cutting curses, entrails-expelling curses..."

"True. Another five points to Gryffindor. You're Potter? Another one who McGonagall keeps talking about. Now, what about the spells that do not suit this classification but nevertheless are called ether jinx, hex or curse? Does anyone know them?"

This time, Susan Bones answered the question.

"The Anti-Apparition Jinx."

"That's one. Bones, right? Five points to Hufflepuff."

"The Curse of the Finikians."

"Right, there were some arguments about whether it should still be classified as a curse or be called a jinx. It summons a fog that is an absolute pain to dispel, so even if it's not a direct spell, it was thus considered a jinx. But, as it usually happens, tradition won and it is still known as a curse. What's your name?"

"Padma Patil."

"Five points to Ravenclaw. Who else?"

And so it continued. After the ideas ran out, Moody told them of the classification of engagements and the main principles of self-defence. Finally, the lesson ended.

"I want you all to bring me a study of the changes in spell classification over the times with your commentary. Next lesson, we'll look through them and compare the results during the class. Now, off with you lot! Potter, you stay. We have something to discuss."

After the students left, murmuring excitedly, Harry turned towards the old ex-Auror with a frown.

"Do you have lessons now, Potter?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, I'm done for today."

"Good. I have a free period now, so come along."

They exited the class and Moody shut the door closed and muttered a couple of incantations under his nose, tapping the lock and the door frame. They walked outside without any idle talk, as Moody didn't show any willingness to engage in such and Harry was far too awkward and nervous to start it. Finally, when they reached the middle of the bridge, he finally stopped and leaned on the parapet.

"Potter, I've heard you have killed this summer," the grizzled former Auror said bluntly.

Harry started. He didn't expect the talk to be about this of all things.

"Yes."

The retired Auror grumbled something under his breath and scrutinised the boy before him.

"Nasty business. I always took it as a rule to debrief my men who had to kill on mission. What are your thoughts on this, lad? And don't lie, I smell bullshit as well as a niffler smells gold."

Harry shrugged and looked at the mountains, barely visible behind the constant fog.

"Honestly – I don't know. I feel conflicted. On one hand, the life of a sentient being is the most precious thing in the world, but on the other – they were scum that could kill somebody in the future if I didn't put them down."

"Could, would – it doesn't matter, kid," Moody rumbled. "If you can spare someone without risking your life – do it. There are few people who really should be killed – those who are able to escape Azkaban."

"I didn't choose to kill them," Harry argued, turning to his professor. "I just... reacted. I would have settled for knocking them out, believe me, and I certainly didn't throw anything dark or explicitly lethal at them!"

"I believe you, lad, now stop yelling like Ragnarok has come and Fenrir has bitten you in the arse," Moody snorted. "I know you had little choice on the matter. I know you just used simple spells. And that, I believe, is the reason beyond your relative calmness regarding these events. And you did not do as bad as most of your generation would have. But if you were prepared, you would do much, much better."

"Prepared?" Harry looked at him with curiosity.

"Yes, prepared. And I don't mean that you should have been encased in dragon-hide armour and had an escape Portkey or two primed – though that is always handy. I mean your mind-set," he touched his forehead, swirling his magical eye wildly for the effect.

_ That thing is seriously freaky._

"You must be on guard," Moody continued to rumble, "You enter a room, you look for escape routes and easily defensible positions. You must practise **CONSTANT VIGILANCE!**"

Harry jumped, his ears ringing and his heart making little loop-de-loops in his chest at the sudden shock.

"And that reminds me of another topic I've wanted to talk to you about. You met Black last year, right? Tell me everything."

The tale took another ten minutes, after which Moody was wearing a heavy frown that made his face look even scarier.

"So he basically told you he'd return? Good. That makes it easier. He ran last year to lick his wounds and recover. I knew him when I gave him and your father fighting lessons – he's not the patient sort. He will come back as soon as he can to finish what he had started. That means, kid that we can expect him to resurface in the near future. For now – keep your eyes open and be **VIGILANT**! If you see anything that can be related to him – tell me, and then call the Aurors," he waited for Harry's acknowledgement, and then muttered: "He's an Animagus... That may be how he's escaped in the first place. I'll need to warn Amelia about a hole in Azkaban wards..."

With that, the slightly unsettling man slowly walked away, his wooden leg clanking on the wood of the bridge. Harry watched him vanish in the distance. Something that the ex-Auror said caught the boy's attention and was slowly turning into an embryo of an Idea which will one day flourish.

"Prepared..."

** Las Vegas, sometime between morning and 3pm**

Sirius opened his bleary eyes and barely withheld a groan. His head felt like it had dwarves mining for gold with industrial level equipment in there. When he cautiously opened his right eye and assured himself that the lighting was as bearable as it could get (the twilight that was created by closed blinders was rather pleasing for his hangover-induced light allergy) he forced himself to sit on the bed. Or tried to.

He was obstructed by someone's head lying on his stomach. When he glanced at the head, he was rather relieved to see that the head was a) obviously belonging to a female; b) was very beautiful; c) was drooling on his unmentionables.

Seeing that his predicament couldn't be escaped – or shouldn't be escaped by any hot-blooded male – he closed his eyes contentedly and started to remember the previous night.

_The neon lamps in the casino were becoming more and more fascinating with every drink he had. Sirius grinned; as he heavily disliked Muggle cocktails (mostly because of the name – not that he would admit it), he managed to bring a couple of bottles of firewhisky with him and was slowly drinking himself into a stupor._

_ Fortunately, he was an extremely coherent drunk, which kept most of the people around from guessing his condition. But what was even more important – to him, at least – was the fact that he was very, very lucky when he was drunk. He didn't even have to resort to cheating: the money was flowing to him as it is._

_ After a certain amount of time, he was joined by a very, very hot woman. As addled as he was, he didn't question her presence – and when he suggested going for a drink, she immediately agreed, saying that in any drinking games, she's always won, and challenged Sirius a drinking game, much to his glee._

_ A simple truth that he knew from his experiences and common knowledge was that when a muggle is confronted with a glass of firewhisky they are done. It doesn't matter how high his alcohol tolerance is: one glass was enough to make anyone sway and slur like a sailor on a shore leave._

_ The woman wasn't an exception, and after a glass of the drink and some drunken shenanigans that cost Sirius a half of his that day's winnings, they finally went to bed._

_ And that was the best thing that happened to Sirius since Azkaban. Well, besides meeting his godson, but that is in another category entirely._

When Sirius woke up in the second time, the pressure on his lower stomach was noticeably absent. After fully waking up, he got up and walked to the kitchen to see where were his winnings and his new woman-for-the-night.

Both, as he found out to his surprise, were gone.

When he ran to the safe to see the state of the remains of the money he won in the last few months, he saw the metal box opened with a glaring void inside.

On the safe there was a note.

_Sorry, sugar, but work is work. I must admit, I enjoyed last night, so I left some of the money under the pillow. You're lucky, so you're not going to be in trouble for not paying for the room._

_ Ciao, handsome._

"Well bugger me sideways. Damn it, Sirius, you've been had by one of the oldest tricks in the book. I'd say I'm losing it, but it was worth it."

Crumbling the note and walking to the bed to check the promised leftovers, Sirius decided that enough was enough.

It was time to look into returning to Britain.

**19pm, 4****th**** of September, Saturday**

The second meeting with Flitwick was dedicated to shields.

"I assume that after last lesson you understand that there is more to defence than just dodging. There are four ways of avoiding being hexed. The first is simply not being there when the spell hits – but it is, as we have proven, not the panacea some people believe it to be," on this, the little demented bastard had the gall to smirk at Harry.

"After the Cup I did dodge the Death Eater's curses for a couple of minutes," the boy argued half-heartedly. This only caused Flitwick to raise his brow.

"Mr. Potter, just how far were you from each other?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought.

"Twenty-five, thirty meters – something like that."

"Well, there you have it. Most magical engagement happens at the top range of twenty meters. More than that, and most people start having trouble with their aim, especially if they're inebriated, as I suspect was the case. But at the range of ten meters even the most sharp of reflexes will not protect you," he pointed at the boy with his finger in a mentor-ish fashion. "The second way is to find cover. For obvious reasons, it is not a very good method. The third is using counter-spells. A highly complex technique, it requires that you figure out the spell that your enemy uses and counter it before he finishes the incantation. Nearly useless in an actual battle under most circumstances, but nevertheless it works when all else fails. The fourth and the most reliable way of evading whatever grisly fate your enemy cooked up for you is using shields," Flitwick tapped his table for emphasis. "Now, the best beginner level spell of that nature is _Contego._"

What followed seemed less of a lesson and more of a crash-test. If the previous time Harry was forced to jump around the room, nearly doing cartwheels and barrel rolls to evade the giggling sadist's spells, now he was doing the same against the ever-increasing barrage of jinxes and hexes, occasionally shielding when it was possible – Flitwick didn't give him a second of respite, and judging by the occasional cackles from the little maniac, he was having the time of his life.

Harry was starting to understand the little man's primary strategy in the duels – overwhelm the opponent with a ridiculous amount of spells. He was going at it for half an hour already without any sign of stopping any time soon – hell, he didn't even break a sweat!

Gradually, as fatigue began to settle in, Harry started managing to shield more and more, getting used to the pace and learning to anticipate the time he needed to cast a shield. If he wasn't slightly panting from exhaustion and glaring at the professor, he would be grinning.

Finally, Flitwick lowered his wand.

"Good, you're getting the hang of it. Now, the next shield is what is called flash-type. Unlike _Contego _and the rest of the sustain-type shields, it works for a short while, but it is somewhat more resilient. To use it, you need good timing and experience, which will come, he, he, in time. The incantation is _Aegis_, and the wand movement is like so..."

Now, the charm master again was throwing spells at Harry randomly, leaving it for him to figure out which shield to use. To "aid" him in this, Flitwick started voicing the incantations.

Unfortunately, this exercise was much more difficult than the previous one due to the need to use the brain while the body was in its "fight or flight" mode, and Harry quickly accumulated a nifty amount of detrimental effects. In the end of a short, but rather humiliating session, the professor dispelled everything and sent the boy off with words:

"On the next session, we will add even more shields in your arsenal. Practise quickly casting what you have already learned. I personally recommend tongue twisters and working on the basic wand movements. The former you need to work on since today, the latter is as of yet not very important. Off you trot, we'll meet again tomorrow."

Harry nodded and left the room, not allowing a relieved sigh to escape his lips until he was far enough from the door.

"Lil' Workaholic, you again?"

The boy jumped and turned sharply at the voice that sounded behind him. Just as he thought, there was that Auror girl with hair of tear-my-eyes-out pink.

"It's you again," he grumbled, annoyed at the smirk on her lips. "It's rude to startle people like that."

"No, it's fun. Besides, now that you had the strength to jump, I know that you're not completely exhausted and I will not have to drag you to the Gryffindor tower."

Harry went red and glared at her.

"You know, you're cute when you're glaring like that," the young woman commented. This commentary didn't illicit the reaction she was hoping for. Harry forgot about his annoyance and adopted a thoughtful frown.

"How cute, exactly?"

"Very. But in a childish way," she answered, nonplussed at the question. The boy sighed.

"Drat."

"Why did you ask?"

"Well, there's this Hufflepuff I quite like..."

"Say no more. Hufflepuff has always had the best girls!" the Auror struck a pose and grinned. "Or maybe it's a guy?"

Harry snorted, refusing to react to this provocation.

"No, Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not batting for the home team. Anyway, I'm off," he turned around with a wave, but after a few steps did a one hundred and eighty. "By the way, before I forget: please don't mention the dragging to the tower bit to anyone. OK?"

The Auror nodded with a smirk.

"Fine, kid. I won't tell."

Harry's face fell.

"Oh bloody hell, you've already told someone, haven't you?"

"Yep. Sorry," she answered in a bright tone that indicated that she wasn't sorry at all. Harry face-palmed with a groan.

"You do know that I will get you back for that?" he asked slowly, not rising his head. The girl with pink hair stared at him.

"Treat it as a prank. And besides, kid, I've dragged your sorry ass to your tower. You should be thanking me."

"I know," he grumbled. "I did thank you, if you don't remember. Three times. But now, since it's going to become public knowledge, I lose man points, and this sucks."

"Man points?" the girl guffawed. "You know, you're a pretty funny kid."

"Nah. By the way, what is your name? You didn't tell me last time, and I was too out of it to ask."

"It's Tonks."

"Harry Potter."

"You are, aren't you?"

"Evidently. Well, I'll see you around."

"Bye, kid."

There was only one thought on Harry's mind while he was dragging himself across the castle towards the siren's call of his bed.

_How do you prank an Auror?_


	11. Smoke and Mirrors

**Chapter updated: 22.11.14**

**Author's note**

Sorry for the previous chapter. I've tinkered with it a bit, so now it should be more or less readable. I've changed a couple of scenes, including the Tonks bit in the end. Nothing major, just a bit of file work. Oh, and I corrected the bug in the 9th chapter so that the thestrals are now visible.

If you see anything else that should be corrected, let me know.

_The boy coughed weakly and after a couple of seconds of flailing around rose from the ground, dusting his jacket off._

"_A common mistake," a soft, slightly raspy voice called out from the corner of the dark room. "You took far too much energy for a simple spell. Usually, though, such a mistake wouldn't cause a simple Arcane Bolt to literally blow up in your face."_

"_You don't say," Harry answered wryly, rearranging his dreadlocks so that they wouldn't obstruct his vision. "Master, don't you have an exercise that is a bit more... novice-proof?"_

_The cloaked figure shook his head, blue luminescent eyes behind the mask showing his amusement._

"_The point of me teaching you this spell is control and efficiency. Until you train it up to snuff, so to speak, I will not teach you anything about this way of using magic. I'm afraid that you will just have to work hard."_

_Harry rolled his eyes and turned to the demolished mannequin, restoring it with a minute twitch of his wand that immediately returned to his pocket. The boy grinned and lifted his sceptre once again._

"_I was never afraid of a bit of work..."_

* * *

**Chapter 11: Smoke and Mirrors**

* * *

Harry was pensive.

He sent out a missive to Lupin to ask him any kind of advice he could give in regards to pranking an Auror.

Hedwig returned the day after he sent her out with a reply, in which the friendly neighbourhood werewolf told Harry that "he needed to do this on his own". Apparently, the styles of each of the Marauders were different enough so they did everyday jokes on their own, only gathering together for large-scale mischief, so he wanted Harry to find his own style before coming to him for ideas. That said, Remus did send him a list of highly useful tips of a general kind along with a warning that Aurors were trained to feel incoming magic, so direct hexing was out.

Now Harry was sitting near the lake, under his favourite tree, with a hand propped under his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. To his right, Luna was walking in circles, as if dancing with someone invisible.

"Style," he muttered, glancing at the letter in his right hand and reading aloud an excerpt. "'Think about how you want people to feel with your jokes, what impression should they leave, will they be done in good humour or specifically make fun of some git or other. Note: don't overdo it. You don't need to make mortal enemies, you have them already.' What a bundle of sunshine he is."

"Don't be sarcastic," Luna chided softly, pausing in her waltz, "it attracts the attention of Nargles and Brain-Rotting Nefarans."

Harry chortled.

"Nefarans? That is something new. Tell me about them."

The blonde shrugged and twirled around once again.

"They are very small, grey and look like bats with long tubes instead of a mouth. They feed on carrion, and dead brains are a delicacy for them. As anyone knows, sarcasm kills your brain bit by bit, so Nefarans hunt for sarcastic people. Then they wait until you fall asleep and then eat your brains through the ears."

Harry paled and shuddered at the disturbing imagery, involuntarily touching his ears..

"Luna, you're a sweetheart, but I'm afraid that you're a person with a high freak-out factor," he grumbled and froze. Slowly, a smile spread on his face at the thought that came to him just then.

"Freak out... Hah! I've found it! I watched Fred and George do loud, noisy and completely out-of-proportion pranks, and it's not my cup of tea despite my father doing pretty much the same. But you know what? I will do better. I will make them doubt their own sanity, not knowing what happened to the world around them that made everything go bonkers!" Harry started chuckling. The chuckles soon made way to a full-blown cackling.

"Um... but how will you do this?" Luna tilted her head, peering at the laughing boy with a puzzled expression. The laughter ceased abruptly. Harry's brow creased.

"That... is a good question. My first and, for now, only target is an Auror. I can't just hex her with something mind-altering, she'd notice it. Considering the fact that I've decided that I will make her doubt she has woken up, as the reality would be just too weird to be anything else than a dream... I need..." Harry sat on the ground again and scratched the back of his head. After that, he looked around, searching inspiration, and noticed a certain roommate heading towards the castle. Then it struck him with the gentle touch of a Bludger on top speed.

"Oy! Nev!"

Neville paused and turned towards the voice. "Harry? What?"

"I need you for a second!" seeing him pause, as if hesitating, the boy continued: "Come on, drag your Longbottom over here!"

Neville blinked at the request, but reluctantly approached him.

"Listen, Neville, I need your help as the budding Herbology master," Harry noticed a pleased blush on the shy boy's face and mentally awarded himself a cookie.

"W-what do you need?"

"Nev, tell me, do you know of any magical plants that can induce a hallucinogenic effect?"

Neville sputtered.

"Why do you need dr-drugs?"

"I don't need drugs." Harry said quickly. "I just need something that will make you taste colours, preferably with little to no side effects and I don't need anything addictive." Neville sighed and reluctantly nodded.

"I-I think I know of something like that. Do you r-remember the purple fumeleaf that I used to have in our dorm?"

"Wait, wait, wait a second. That funky smelling specimen of magical flora was actually called..."

"Purple fumeleaf."

"...well, it fits. So, that was a hallucinogen?" Harry grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Nev, you drug-dealer, you! **Bad** boy!"

"It...It wasn't like that!" the boy waved his hands frantically with a slightly reddened face. "The vapours this plant produces when it matures are hallucinogenic, especially in its natural habitat – tropical rainforests. You see, somehow the moist atmosphere..."

"The point, Neville, the point."

"R-right," Neville looked upset and sheepish at the same time, but quickly continued. "Well, I wanted to see if I could prevent the plant from... creating the fumes. It worked – to-to an extent. I want to do another experiment, but I need a greenhouse and professor Sprout said that she will give me some space to work, but only next year."

"I take it you couldn't just find an unused classroom and charm it to suit your needs? That's what everyone's doing."

That suggestion stalled the words ready to leave the blonde's mouth. He frowned and rubbed his forehead.

"That... could w-work. But I'll need to ask professor McGona-McGonagall..."

"Don't bother. No one does. There are far too many rooms in this castle. All we have to do is find one room far out of the way, charm it for privacy, do whatever we need to do to turn the class into a makeshift greenhouse..."

"'We'?" Neville questioned, a sliver of hope shining in his eyes. Harry shrugged.

"I need someone to bounce ideas off. Someone who knows what thinking inside the box entails," he threw an amused glance at Luna, who was cheerfully waving at the giant squid, who was also jerking a tentacle in the air, either answering her or signalling epileptic seizures. "Who wouldn't blow a gasket at the concept of defying the rules without a particular reason but just for the fun of it, and who, when I turn all theoretical, wouldn't be needlessly bored and demand an explanation in simple words and crayon." _That was a bit harsh_. Harry sighed. "Don't misunderstand me – Luna, Hermione and Ron are great friends, but in the current situation I could use one friend more."

"Why not Seamus or Dean?"

"You know Dean – he's the laid-back, go with the flow kind of guy. He wouldn't want to do something like pranking someone. And Seamus... if he agreed, he would just do it to impress some girl, not for the fun of it, and he would want to change the idea so as to seem more attractive, as he sees it. And, well, I always saw you as someone who has never been allowed to be naughty and disobey rules. Let's just say I want to see you grow, and rebellious behaviour is a first step to becoming a great person, or something like that. So, do you want to be a bad boy for once?"

After hesitating for a second, Neville grinned and nodded.

"That actually wasn't a question, but glad that you agree."

**Twenty minutes later**

"I think this should do it," Harry nodded in satisfaction, fully opening the door to a huge classroom on the dungeon level. "It's humid here... Ack, the smell!"

Neville followed him, grimacing at the stink of stale air.

"Yes, this should do nicely! It must have been the lecture hall when all the houses had shared lessons. I think that it fell out of use fairly long ago, judging by the fact that the elves haven't bothered to clean here," Harry ran up the stairs between two blocks of tables. "Hah! Neville, if we manage to create ventilation here, I believe it is going to be one **hell **of a greenhouse!"

"**If**."

"Nah. We'll turn the library upside down and find a solution. No worries," Harry waved, skipping down and looking around absent-mindedly.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you helping me in this? Plants were never your favourite subject," Neville asked, peering at his dorm mate suspiciously. Harry shrugged.

"I need a new project to work on. Last year I had the Patronus, which was a major pain to learn and required me to start learning an additional discipline to pull it off decently. Also, I had my plans to double my liquid assets in the span of a couple of years that also had me brainstorming like you won't believe. This year I have the duelling with Flitwick and ... well, that's it. I feel as if only half of my brain is working, while the other is dying of boredom and slowly converting to fat. Unpleasant, I'm telling you."

"Oh," the blonde boy looked at him peculiarly. Harry shrugged.

"Now I have a vague idea of a prank, plus an incentive to create a source of potion ingredients that can be used in all kinds of mischief and rule-breaking – all for good cause, naturally. It will come in handy anyway."

Neville nodded, satisfied with this reasoning.

That night, sleep did not want to come to Harry for a long time. When it finally did, the dream that he saw was nothing like he ever experienced.

_The sound of running water. A small river._

_ On the shore was a mighty oak, its leaves trembling under the wind. Amongst the roots, there were many small skeletons. Mice, squirrels, other small rodents, some snakes. Rats. One of them was not a skeleton, but alive. It was changing, becoming a short balding man in ragged clothes and small, beady eyes that normally would dart from side to side in constant search of danger. Not now, however. Now, they were too busy beholding the presence before them._

_ "Master! I found you!"_

_ A cold smile, woven of smoke, was the answer._

_ And he awoke with a gasp._

Harry sat on his bed with his head hidden in his arms. What was that dream? It seemed so vivid, so damn **real**. He didn't know how, but he knew that he witnessed something that actually happened. The boy got up quietly, got his clothes on and left his dorm without making a sound.

He couldn't sleep with his nerves as high as they were, so he might as well do something worthwhile instead of lying in his bed and throwing out wild guesses regarding the weird dream.

He was going to do something that he actually liked to do occasionally on the nights when insomnia grabbed him in a friendly headlock – sneak into the Restricted Section and find some books to skim through in the search of something that would grab his attention.

Fifteen minutes later he was already inside of the Section, absently renewing the slightly worn off magical vision charm on his glasses. He wandered through the dusty room, finally stopping by the shelf that contained most of the books whose titles started with the letter S. He started running his hand across the leathery covers.

"Sighting the Elven Path". _A work of a wizard who researched the departure of True Elves from this world_, _a rather fascinating topic, but very difficult to read due to the sheer amount of elven clans mentioned. Damn genealogy, it's too confusing to try to keep all the names straight._

"Sigils and Gestures of Power"._ A tome about runes and correlating hand signs. From what I can tell, it contains tips on using your fingers as a magical focus. Unfortunately, I can understand barely a quarter of it the rest goes completely over my head. Oh, I haven't looked through this one before..._

"Smoke and Mirrors: the Most Subtle Art of Illusion"._ Maybe it can assist me in my current project... or both of them._ Grinning, Harry tapped his wand on the shelf and expanded it so it would look somewhat like a table. After carefully levitating a chair that stood in the corner to the improvised reading space and plopping down on it, the boy began to read, quietly chuckling at some points.

The second DADA lesson was slightly different from the first. Moody wouldn't stop frowning for the whole lesson, frightening some girls (and a couple of boys, to their eternal shame) into stuttering. After a rather long quiz on the homework (which was very interesting for Harry, as Moody explained the tendencies in magical development over the last thousand years, even if briefly) the retired Auror began a long-winded monologue on Dark Wizard psychology.

"A third of those who step on the dark path," he orated in a voice that was rather close to a growl, "do so with good intentions. 'So what if I use the Entrails Expelling Curse a couple of times? It doesn't matter as long as I aim it at the bad guys!' Wrong. Disregarding the moral ambiguity of this view, the Dark Arts are addictive by their very nature. They are not the ultimate road to power as many believe, but a costly short-cut. They change you, addict you. Enslave you. In the end, it is you who serve the Dark Arts."

Harry exited the Defence classroom, frowning thoughtfully. Something in the lecture hit a chord within him, Hermione and Ron followed him, trading looks of worry that he could almost feel. They walked to the kitchens in silence. There, he prepared his usual meal, moving automatically, his brain occupied with a simple question, a question that he finally asked five minutes after they started to eat.

"Why do Dark Wizards desire power?"

Hermione looked up at him. She chewed her steak, swallowed and answered:

"Ambition."

He slowly nodded, accepting her one-word explanation, but muttered:

"It just doesn't make sense… it cannot be the only reason," Harry hummed, rubbing his temples in an effort to speed up his cognitive functions. He started to think out loud.

"What is power? An ability to change things? A guarantee of safety? An ego booster? Something to lord over the others? All of the above?" Harry bit his lower lip. _What is it for me, then?_

The answer did not come to him quickly.

On a late evening in the middle of September, an owl from Gringotts flew into the Gryffindor Common room. Aside from a few seventh-years who were pulling an all-nighter, there were only Harry and Hermione, Ron having already gone to sleep. Harry has just finished his Transfiguration essay and now was doodling animated illustrations under the text just for the fun of it. At the sight of the owl, however, he quickly turned serious and pushed the parchment aside. As soon as it reached him, he grabbed the letter the owl carried and started reading. Immediately after finishing, he exploded with curses.

"Language, Harry. And eww. What happened that provoked this?" Hermione asked, lifting her eyes from her Rune atlas. The boy paused in the middle of a wicked swear and grimaced.

"I did something stupid. Or maybe I did something very smart and it turned out creating a rather large problem."

"Do tell," she closed the atlas and focused all of her attention on her friend. Harry sighed and started explaining.

"Well, you know those plans I kept making last year, to use the fluctuations in the herbal market to make a huge amount of money?" After seeing her nod he continued: "Well, it worked. It actually worked** too **well. I earned more than double the sum that I've invested, and my manager hasn't yet completed selling the goods."

"Well, it is a good thing, right?" Hermione asked, confused about why her friend was so down about his wealth multiplying.

"Normally it would be, but ... the thing is, my scheme was focused on the Bloodsucker Oak acorns, which are very expensive due to the danger the collector must face to get them. Most of the acorns in the British market come from the Malfoys – the three oaks that they had on their grounds were what gave them starting capital. Nowadays, however, they have far more profitable businesses, and pay little attention to the acorn sales. The guy who is in charge of that gathering operation caught on that little titbit of info and started selling the acorns off the books on the side. Gradually he grew bolder, and the Malfoys almost stopped getting money from the acorns. I do not know how in heaven and hell the guy managed to get away with this, but he wasn't caught until recently, if at all. Malfoy looked at his books, saw an unprofitable business, and decided to sell it to one Dolores Umbridge, the Undersecretary to the Minister."

"Uh-oh," Hermione muttered, getting into the story that Harry was telling. The boy nodded.

"A little background: despite her being almost universally … disliked, she's very influential in the ministry and has Fudge eating out of her hands and vice-versa. She's a complete and utter bitch, she tried to stick charges to me during the hearing this summer – I still don't get what that was about - and from what I heard, she's a bigot of such a scale it would make little Drakey-poo become green with envy. Nasty piece of work, that one. So, dear old Lucius got her a little almost-present, giving her a seeming gold mine for a symbolic amount of Galleons and her support in passing some bill or something. Naturally, our enterprising foreman got very worried and decided to go all in and sell whatever he could before handing in a resignation and leaving Britain for warmer countries and a villa on the beach," Harry shrugged in a 'what can you do' manner. Hermione listened to his tale, slightly enraptured. _When has he become so good in telling stories?_

"Originally, I planned on simply making a deal with the head of that particular business, making it seem like all of the oaks were caught in a forest fire, and then sharing the profit from the sales, but after Tearshape – he's my account manager – got wind about the situation, it got much, much easier. The sum that I had to pay to actually buy the acorns was much less than what I'd have to give him as his share under the original plan. In addition, the price of the acorns grew slightly during these months. So, in the end, I'm now significantly richer."

"What's the catch?" Hermione asked. "Is Umbridge going to make problems?"

"Right in one," Harry answered grimly, "She somehow learned about the whole situation, and my, heh, partner in crime is now enjoying a stay in prison. A quick trial behind the closed doors and he's off on the Azkaban Express," he slowly waved his hand in a throwing motion, "I believe she might have used illegal means to obtain the information in the first place. Tearshape said that she's been sniffing around the market, asking who's been selling large amounts of acorns lately. She should know about my involvement already."

"So what does it mean for you?"

"According to the law, I'm sparkling clean, smell pleasantly, and just forgot my nimbus at home – I only bought those things from a guy who assured me he has the right to sell them and I can say that under Veritaserum. Buying the acorns isn't a crime. However, while before she just looked down at me because I'm a half-blood, now she's actively after me. I will have to lay low for the remainder of my Hogwarts years so as not to provoke her overtly, and judging by my past three years it is highly unlikely. Take her relationship with the Minister and the accumulated influence, and it's obvious I'm in deep shit."

"I'm going to the library."

Harry chuckled tiredly as his friend stood up with a determined expression on her face.

"Sit down, it's late evening. Unless you want to break curfew?" the last was said with a wink. Hermione frowned and after a few seconds' thought nodded.

"Go get your cloak. I won't be able to sleep if I don't look up some precedents at least."

Harry was struck speechless with the surprise.

"Harry, come on. I'll go put my things away, you should do the same. Meet you here in five minutes."

With that, she vanished up the stairs to the girl's dorm. Harry shook his head and started gathering his writing accessories, a soft smile on his face and a warm feeling in his chest.

_I have great friends._

She really did come with him to the library and they spent a couple of hours browsing through history accounts, searching for any similar occurrences. They didn't find anything, but that didn't discourage Hermione. It was only when Harry pointed out that she wouldn't be able to function normally in the morning if they lingered any longer when she caved in and they returned to the tower to get some sleep. The failure didn't deter Hermione, however – she devoted a couple of hours daily for the next week to plundering through the library in the search for anything that could help Harry. And in the end, she had her answer.

"You're relatively safe for the next two years," she said in a tone of supreme satisfaction, dropping a heavy tome on the table that Harry sat by with a loud 'thump'. "As long as you're a minor, the list of things she can do legally to you is rather limited. The Ministry on the whole can only persecute you in any major way once you have passed your OWLs, and the things they can do to you are also no worse than a slap on the hand."

"Give me the worst cases before and after the OWLs," Harry asked, glancing at the tome before him with some respect.

"Before the exam, they can break your wand and expel you from Hogwarts. After, the top is a couple of years in the low exposure zone of Azkaban."

"Great," Harry grumbled, "and what do I have to do to deserve that?"

"For Azkaban: proven murder. For expelling you, it very much depends. It ranges from a case of underage magic to a major offence of criminal nature."

"Underage magic... I think I will have to be careful this summer," Harry glanced at the rows of bookshelves. "Do you think you could find something on the topic? I'd like to know about this in more detail, and not just because of Umbridge and her possible plots."

The book was easy to find. The facts within were difficult to digest, especially taking into consideration the offensive nature of said facts to Muggleborns, and Hermione's personality of being a fighter for rights. _If she lived in the beginning of the century, she'd be a suffragette for sure, _Harry thought amusedly, watching his friend rant away. It was rather impressive how she changed the thematic of her passionate speech as she went. While she started from just complaining about the unfair government, it quickly turned into the territory of a giant conspiracy against the Muggleborns. To be fair, the Trace was never about oppressing those not of pure blood, but rather a fruit of the philosophy "if it ain't broke, don't fix it", but the two teens didn't think of that.

"...Those oppressive, ignoble, barbaric Neanderthals! What else did they stick in the proverbial wheels of progress? It is no wonder they still live in the last century! They just stunt the growth of everyone who would object to the existing order of things!"

The Ministry couldn't really detect magic if it was cast in the presence of an adult wizard. The structure of the Trace spell thought the adult presence to be someone who would supervise the youngster and shut itself down until the adult left. The same happened in heavily magical households, where the natural hum of ambient magic was recognised as belonging to an adult.

The natural consequence of this was that the only ones who couldn't do magic were the Muggleborn and those rare people like Harry who weren't living with magical people. This was what sent Hermione off. Harry listened to her rant with amusement and exasperation for a good quarter of an hour before finally intervening when she paused for breath.

"Hermione, I don't think you should react so badly to this. No, hear me out," he put up his hand in a pacifying gesture. "They are oppressing the Muggleborn. Fine. They are ignorant assholes who think that as long as they don't let anyone who could rock the boat earn any power for themselves, they are safe. Very well."

"How can you be so cold? Harry, it is our rights that we're speaking of!"

"I know. Hermione, look at history. Such regimes end one way only – a revolution. Do you want to start it?"

"...If I have to, yes!"

Harry, who was facing the other direction until now, turned to her sharply.

"Really? Do you want to start a bloodbath? Another war? Would you prefer to be known as the Dark Lady Hermione, Hm? Would you like to be the one who starts the machine that turns blood into gold? Would you, Hermione?" he threw each accusation in her face, and every question impacted Hermione like a physical blow. She stared at Harry, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.

"No. No, I wouldn't. But what can we do otherwise, Harry?" her voice was tired.

"There is only one true revolution. The revolution of thinking. Gradually, the change will come, with or without our help. It is inevitable. It is evolution. Nothing can truly stand against the progress, Hermione, for all is subject to change."

The girl looked at him with open curiosity.

"Where did you read that?"

Harry adopted an affronted look.

"I'll have you know that I thought this philosophy up from scratch. However, I have read a certain book that helped me in refining my world view. Wait a second," he looked around and determinedly walked to one of the far shelves. After a couple of seconds of searching he grabbed a tome with a rich black and silver cover and gave it to Hermione, who peered at the encrusted name.

"Abraxas Malfoy. 'Wizarding Power'," she threw Harry a questioning look, at which he shrugged.

"Say what you want about that family, but the man knew his stuff. He was Lucius' father and died in the beginning of the war. Rumour said that he was opposed to Voldemort, thinking of him as a dangerous loose cannon that looked only for his own interests. It was after his death that Lucius came into Voldemort's fold. Also, from the subtle hints in the text, he wasn't all that opposed to the Muggleborns, but had heavy issues with the Muggles."

"Who would have thought," Hermione muttered, opening the first page and sitting down.

"Yep."

"Mr. Potter, what exactly was that?" Flitwick wasn't angry, as one could think from his words, but very much amused. Harry was standing a dozen meters from him, legs bent, profile slightly turned so as to present a smaller target. What was strange, however, was that three meters to his left stood another Harry Potter in the exact same pose, just facing the other direction. Both of them had their wands half-raised in the teacher's direction, prepared to shield or hex.

"Uhm... I tried to use an illusion?" Harry offered tentatively. His tutor chortled.

"Tried? No, I think you **used **an illusion. I'd just congratulate you for somehow stumbling upon a workable strategy of combat, but I have to ask: why did you use this particular spell?"

Harry straightened and rubbed the back of his head with a puzzled expression.

"I came across it in a book and thought it would be handy in a fight."

"Hah! You see, Mr. Potter, in the beginning of my career as a duellist I was heavily employing illusionary charms, as I needed every advantage I could get. One illusion in particular was my absolute favourite due to my... hmm... height issues and the following impossibility to dodge," Flitwick smiled in good humour when Harry's eyes widened. "Yes, 'Mirror Image' is a very, very good spell."

Mirror Image, as its name implied, created a visibly indistinguishable copy of the caster. It did so in four steps. First, it conjured a cloud of smoke that obscured the user. Secondly, it designated a 'mirror', an immaterial surface of symmetry, positioning it following the intent behind the spell. Next the illusion itself was conjured on the other side of said surface. Finally, it synchronised the movements of the illusion with the movements of the caster. It even managed to fire off the same spells. Of course, they were just fakes and wouldn't do anything (the same could be said about the shields). The illusion was rather unstable and would vanish if hit by anything, but it was still useful and had a lot of more higher-tier modifications and analogues.

"Well," Flitwick mused, looking at two boys before him, "I certainly did not think you would use illusions at this point. However, if you feel that you are ready for such material ..."

Both Harry and his twin nodded. The boy was tired of the continuous dodge/shield routine and was ready for something more.

"Very good. I've already taught you flash shields and sustained shields and you know under which circumstances what type to use. I believe I will teach you the third type next year. They are uncommon and rather taxing to use. Now, originally I thought to go over offence, but if you want, we will study illusions instead. What do you say?"

Harry paused and seriously started to think. He seriously needed to improve his spell-work when it came to attacking someone, but illusions were a game-changer. _And it is always all about the game-changers._

"How about we do both?"

The small professor shook his head.

"Not possible if you want to have some measure of competence in either. We just don't have enough time to do both. Personally, I recommend focusing on the standard spells and learning illusion in your own time. I will point you at some good spells and books on illusion, but we will focus on them next year, if you so wish."

Harry thought about it for a couple more seconds and slowly nodded.

"Yes, it could work. What are we going to do now?"

The pleasant smile on the half-goblin immediately changed into a scowl.

"Your accuracy is extremely lacking. We will have to correct it. The other point of interest is your speed: it is rather commendable, but it could be better. You have the reflexes and the hand-eye coordination to get both up to a more than decent level. And it is high time they are put into use."

_Welcome to the Filius Flitwick Boot Camp. Abandon all hope ye who enter here._

**14 of October, morning**

Nymphadora Tonks was not panicking. No, she was not. She was an Auror for Merlin's sake! She was the prodigy of the rookie class, the rising star of the academy, a very, very good duellist, a genius of covert infiltration, a protégé of Alastor Moody himself! There shouldn't be anything in the world that would scare her after surviving the tutelage of the crazy one-eyed son of a bitch!

Yet, if she was completely honest with herself, she was currently in the middle of a major freak out.

The morning began as usual, she woke in her guest room in Hogwarts, got up, and after completing all her morning rituals, she stepped outside her room.

That was when the weirdness began. When the door closed, she could feel some sort of magic being activated. She didn't pay this signal any attention, being still sleepy and barely able to think before she had her morning cup of tea. When she reached the more popular corridors, she paused with her mouth still open in a yawn.

People were walking on the ceiling.

They were walking alone, in pairs, they were skipping, talking with each other or determinedly power-walking with all the demeanour of food-seeking warheads, as if not aware of the fact that gravity decided to reverse itself just for the heck of it.

The young Auror, whose hair was currently yellow with green stripes, closed her mouth and slowly blinked. Then she rubbed her eyes. The view in front of her didn't change. Tonks slowly raised her right foot, moved it forward and lowered it on the floor. Nothing.

"What the hell..."

She slowly made her way to the Main Hall, pointedly not looking at the people walking upside down. She wasn't scared, but severely weirded out. Despite her efforts, she was somehow always aware of them and even moved accordingly to the Brownian motion on the ceiling. These facts were nagging at her consciousness for some reason, but she still was shell-shocked from the sheer impossibility of what was happening and wasn't able to think clearly.

When the heavy door to the Great Hall opened before her, she stopped in place, unable to take a step forward.

For some reason it was now **her **who was standing on the cloud-covered ceiling and the whole school body and the professors were sitting on the tables which were right where they ought to be: namely, the floors. Tonks shut her eyes completely and rubbed them thoroughly before opening them again.

She was still standing upside-down on the ceiling.

Tonks took a deep breath to still the sense of vertigo and started thinking. Either the weirdness around her was reality, in which case she was fucked, or it was not. Was she dreaming? No, it felt much too real to be a dream. Illusion? Possible. In this case...

_Finite Incantatem._

The world groaned and warped. After the young Auror blinked, the hall was again as normal as it was possible in a school of magic. She finally was standing on one surface with everyone else. With a smile that was both relieved and bemused she walked over to her place, ignoring the curious stares, and sat down.

The main thought on her mind while she was eating was:

"_Who the hell would put such a... weird... illusion on me?_"

On the Gryffindor table, Harry smiled mischievously, remembering "Smoke and Mirrors" - the tome he read in the Restricted Section. He liked it so much he even started copying select passages for future reference. It contained instructions on how to create complex illusions of **any** type from scratch. Take for example the complex illusion that he threw at Tonks for the constant teasing he endured from her each time he was on his way from Flitwick. He enchanted her door so that the spell would activate when she closed it in the morning and hopefully wouldn't be awake enough to take note of the magical discharge. The illusion would make her think that she was the only one walking on the floors. The component of the spell that allowed her to move without walking into someone was a major pain to cast, what with the complex pattern of wand movements required. Then there was the turnaround that was triggered by her entering the Main Hall. After that, the illusion was scripted to change the orientation of the world in a random pattern. The part which Harry liked the most was the emotional controlling part of the spell, ensuring that Tonks wouldn't be afraid through the experience, just freaked out a bit and feeling like Alice in Wonderland.

Yes, the tome was a true treasure. He practically didn't stop grinning the whole time he was reading. The possibilities seemed endless.

_The fun is only beginning._

**16****Th**** of October, approximately ten kilometres to the north from the Channel Tunnel**

Sirius was hungry. He was thirsty, tired and soaked to the bone from the rain that kept pouring down on the countryside, looking to an observer like someone up there turned a giant bucket upside down right on poor Britain. However, despite feeling like a street dog, Sirius was grinning as wide as the structure of his mouth allowed him.

_I'm home. Did you miss me?_

True, he failed to find Wormtail. Twice he stumbled on the traitor's tail and twice the rat eluded him. Now... now Sirius had to take care of his other duty, the responsibility that he had neglected so far. He was going to meet Harry and tell him everything from the beginning and accept his judgement. But first... first he would have to find a certain stubborn werewolf and enlist his help.


	12. Making Up and Hooking Up

**Chapter updated: 22.11.14**

_Harry stumbled out of his bedroom, muttering under his breath about the special plane of Hell made especially for those unrepentant bastards who wake people up when they want to sleep in. He gestured with his wand to open the door, not bothering to hide it in case it was a Muggle outside._

_It wasn't a Muggle, though. Beyond the door stood Neville Longbottom, his tall, broad-shouldered, bearded, larger tha__n__ life friend._

_"Harry! I got your letter!" he boomed, getting inside and virtually vibrating with excitement. "When can we go to the commune? I just can't wait, I got up and left as soon as I learned, and..."_

_"Good morning to you as well, Neville," Harry said dryly._

_"Ah, yes, morning! Sorry, I'm just very excited, and ... why are you starkers?"_

_Harry stared at him deadpan._

_"That is the main requirement for entering the commune. These druids take that 'natural' theme a bit too far if you ask me, but what can you do..."_

_The bear-like man looked at him plainly._

_"You're having me on, aren't you?"_

_"Yep."_

_"Good. Now go and put some pants on. You already have four eyes staring at me. I really don't need to see the fifth."_

* * *

**Chapter 12: Making Up and Hooking Up**

Harry was hanging in the air upside-down.

It was not comfortable for three reasons.

First: his blood was rushing to his head, which was obviously unpleasant.

Second: his shirt dropped over his face, leaving his skinny torso to everyone's view.

And the worst of it all was the reason three: there was a pissed off Auror in his direct vicinity. In fact, it was she who had kept him suspended in the air after relieving him of his wand. The situation was rather bad.

"So, care to explain?"

It wasn't a shout, the tone wasn't even angry. But it might as well been growled for the promise of violence in her seemingly apathetic voice.

"Why does a pipsqueak like you try to curse me in the back?"

Harry winced. He bloody well knew it was a bad idea to cast direct magic on Tonks, but he by chance stumbled upon a brilliant piece of magic that would make her think that everyone was singing instead of talking. Unfortunately, it was not without a rather obvious problem: it was a charm. A Mind Alteration Charm, to be exact. And those were all about as direct and uncompromising as a kick to the nuts.

Harry spent a couple of hours hesitating before deciding that it would be worth it if he succeeded, conveniently forgetting that there was a chance that he would be caught.

The result was obvious.

"Well?"

Harry grunted and muttered something hardly intelligible.

"What was that?"

"I said: just a prank," Harry repeated a bit louder. Tonks stared at him bemusedly, not that he saw it with his shirt blocking his view. The Auror flicked her wand, turning him in the correct direction and dropping him on the floor. Loud swearing ensued.

When finally Harry righted his clothing and glared up at the offender, said girl was wearing a rather amused look.

"Lil' workaholic? Now, now, why would you try to prank an 'onest Auror such as me? The one, may I remind you that protected you all those dark, creeeepy evenings when you were alone, defenceless, weak..."

Harry made a sound that resembled a mix between a person's rumbling stomach and that funny little noise that sounds when the last of the water in a bath goes down the drain.

"I even carried you to your tower like my own lil' damsel in distress!" she ruthlessly continued. Harry's teeth by all means should have been shattered from the pressure he put on them.

Let us say here that out of many traits Harry had, one of his most admirable ones was his humbleness. But, as it often is with humble people, he was also painfully prideful. A fact that leads us to the understanding why exactly was it that Harry – not a spiteful or vengeful sort of person – truly decided to prank Tonks, who was driving him up the wall by her comments. And now, she was mostly oblivious to the danger from the steaming boy.

As a child, Harry was quick to anger. His rage was usually demonstrated, in order of magnitude, through loud yelling and/or insults, long ranting monologues and outright violence with nearby electronics starting to behave funky. However, ever since the Voice and he were merged into one by the healing power of Fawkes, his rage was even quicker to produce if one tried enough. The other difference was that even when seeing red, Harry still retained some hold over himself and didn't go completely berserk.

He wasn't seeing red when Tonks started her usual teasing. He was angry, but instead of blowing up like old Harry would, he clamped his emotions down and started imagining more... violent pranks. It helped.

"Lil' workaholic?"

He blinked, returning from his daydream of Tonks being stuck in a seemingly endlessly repeating loop of one single day. She was staring at him strangely.

"What?" he groused irritably.

"You just spaced out in the middle of a conversation," she offered. Harry scoffed.

"You mean I decided not to listen to you endlessly insulting me."

She rolled her eyes.

"Some people can't take a joke..."

"A joke that is deliberately said so as to piss someone off? Sounds like an insult to me."

Tonks shuffled her legs nervously.

"Sorry, kid. I guess I went a bit overboard."

Harry stared at her thoughtfully for a couple of moments, and then slowly nodded.

"Stop doing that and I'll agree to a ceasefire," he said, not without some pomp. The Auror grinned and offered him his wand handle first.

"No promises, kid, it's a part of me. I'll try to tone it down though."

"Fine, I guess," Harry murmured and put his wand away.

"By the way, was it you who cast that illusion on me about a week ago?" she peered at him suspiciously, prompting him to school his face into a mask of confusion.

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"So it** was** you. Cheeky little bugger," she muttered. "And don't look at me like that – I'm a Metamorphmagus, I know all there is to know about facial expressions and those little signs and tells people do when they lie. I don't need Legilimency to know when someone's bullshitting me."

"Handy," Harry admitted, giving up his pretence as her explanation sounded rather plausible. He paused. "Wait, what is a Metamorphmagus?"

"I'm capable of changing my appearance and body structure in any way I want within reason," her hair cycled through different vibrant colours that wouldn't be out of place in Dumbledore's wardrobe. The boy nodded appreciatively.

"Cool. Is it a type of wandless self-transfiguration like animagism?"

"Sort of. It is more of an inherent skill, and you can't learn it. You can do something similar with Transfiguration, but it requires a wand. And anything major is ritual territory."

"I see. Pity," he mumbled. Tonks raised an eyebrow to a rather fascinating height – she even pulled her hairline higher so as to give it more space.

"What's the matter? Shy of your body?"

"Not of the body. Of this," he gestured to his head.

"Hair? You don't need to be a Metamorphmagus to change it. You could just cut it, lengthen it, paint it..."

Harry stared at her for a second in incomprehension, then it dawned on him that through the past two years he let his hair grow out nearly to his shoulders and now he had a mass of hair obscuring his scar. He silently put that lock aside, demonstrating the red outline of a lightning bolt.

Tonks' reaction was rather amusing, especially in comparison to the one he usually got. She stared at him with huge eyes, jaw dropped.

"Wait one god damned second... you're Harry Potter, kid?"

"The one and only," Harry inclined his head, masking a grimace. "Accept no substitutes."

It seemed, however, that he didn't hide his face well enough.

"Sorry. Just a bit surprised," her voice was sincerely apologetic. He waved it off.

"Forget it."

They stood in awkward silence.

"Well, now I feel like I kicked a puppy. You know what? To hell with this, let's start over. Hi, I'm Tonks. Just Tonks," she sheathed her wand and offered her hand to Harry. He stared at it for a second, and then shook it with a grin.

"I'm Harry. Just Harry."

When remembering this first awkward step of their friendship, Harry would always smile. From then on, every time he returned from Flitwick, it was not tired, irritated and plotting bloody vengeance Harry Potter who entered the Gryffindor Tower spitting fire and spooking ickle firsties, it was a weary, but amused and nearly skipping Harry who once even agreed to have his photo taken by the almost fainting Colin Creevey.

Meanwhile, the greenhouse project was... being a pain.

The two boys certainly had an ambitious idea – to create a plant habitat that consisted of several isolated parts that were suitable for different kinds of flora. Harry and Neville, however, had a huge row over the parchment with the plan regarding which specimen to acquire.

"A bloody Bloodsucker Oak, no pun intended? Neville, are you crazy?"

"Well, you did ask me last year about them, and I got interested..."

"Nev, they _eat people_! There's a reason they are called like that!"

"They are interesting!"  
Harry groaned and leaned back, massaging his aching forehead.

"Please, Nev, don't tell me they are 'just misunderstood'. Honestly, you're disturbingly reminding me of Hagrid, only with plants..."

The shy blonde revealed a sudden increase in spine density when it came to his position on man-eating plants. Fortunately for Harry and his self-preservation instincts, he remembered a certain funny little fact.

"Wait. There are too few acorns on the market. And those that are available are going to be bought by hospitals as a component for heavy-duty blood replenishing potions, remember? We simply can't have one."

That deflated Neville.

He still argued that Devil's Snare would be useful for ingredients, but Harry pointing out that the sheer size the adult specimen reached wouldn't fit into the room saved them both from having to re-name their side project into "Extreme Botany".

However, Harry also had to make some stipulations. Instead of a couple of Nirnroots and a Mandrake Neville decided to create a small fungi farm, and he refused to have anything to do with a certain interesting underwater plant from the Caspian Sea which was used in potions that enabled a temporary magical boost. It appeared that Jelly-Rush was in the grey area of British ingredient registry and wasn't allowed to be grown without direct permission of the Ministry – which, taking into account that a couple of high-ups were profiting from it, wasn't likely to be given to the gardening duo any time soon. Harry was certain he could find a couple on the black market through Tearshape, but Neville put his foot down and declared that he prefers to abide by the laws when there are no good reasons not to. Admitting the worth of his friend's words, Harry acquiesced. Not immediately, though.

And after taking a tea break they started planning the greenhouse itself. And then the real problems started.

"We need three things. The first is separation between the different parts. That one is easy, I have a suitable charm/ward system outlined in one of these," Neville tapped a pile of dusty tomes by his seat with his finger. "Next, there is the ground and humidity. Also solvable with some spell work and specialised fertilisers I can get. The final part is the tricky one."

"Light."

"Right in one, light," the usual minor stuttering was gone from Neville speech. He was talking Herbology, and that was his element. "The problem is that I haven't found any light spells for indoor greenhouses that don't have access to sunlight. Not on a scale that we need. There are some examples for single pots, one for from five to seven plants, but the problem is, we need it to cover _all _of them."

"I assume there is a reason why we can't just cast a lot of the smaller ones."

"A lot of the specimens in our list orient their metabolism by the positioning of the light source. If they feel multiple sources of similar intensity, they will become confused and won't properly grow."

They kept silent for a while, letting the problem sink in. Harry sighed.

"This is exactly the thing that will require a flash of genius from one of us. Either that or we find the damn full-power spell. Regardless, let's go eat."

"Wait, but we aren't finished yet!" Neville protested, but Harry waved him off.

"If there is a thing I've learned from Ron, it's that the complexity of your problems is proportionate to your hunger."

"Fine, I guess."

They walked to the Great Hall, making small talk and occasionally exchanging greetings with the familiar students along the way. However, Harry went straight past the doors to the Hall, intending to eat in the kitchens as was his habit.

"Harry, where are you going?"

"The Kitchens. I eat there," he threw over his shoulder, pausing.

"Ah, I wondered where you guys always vanished to during din... ners..." Neville stopped by the open doors with a stunned expression on his face. Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Come over here," the blond said in a serious voice. When Harry bemusedly complied, Neville pointed at the ceiling.

"Light."

It didn't take long for Harry to get what his friend was saying.

"That transparency charm. You think we can do it?"

"I don't see an alternative."

"And we'd have natural light, which is better than any light spell. Fine, I'll look into it. Now, let's move on, we're being looked at."

Hermione Granger was a good person.

She was honest, straightforward, compassionate, and rule-abiding but not to a degree that it would clash with her sense of what is right and wrong. She was very smart and hard-working, talented in many things that counted. She knew it and was proud of herself for this. But the trait she valued the most, even beyond her intelligence, was her loyalty to her friends.

She did have her share of bad qualities, true. Many of them were born from her good ones: her compassion together with her straightforwardness and loyalty occasionally (weekly at least) made her nag at her friends to stop them from lazing around. Her respect of the rules and bookish tendencies made her trust authority and things she read a bit too much, sometimes blindly. On occasion she clashed with Harry about it, his opinion of any authority figures except Dumbledore and some others being suspicious at best. Hermione acknowledged her weaknesses and downsides and tried to correct them.

The one attribute that she never wanted to change was neither good nor bad, thus being in the grey area. Hermione was a very proud person. It pushed her forward just as much as her thirst for knowledge did, sometimes even more so.

However, recently her pride clashed with her most prised virtue: loyalty.

Her best friend, Harry, was receiving special tutoring from professor Flitwick, who was one of the three of her most favourite professors (the others being Vector and McGonagall. Babbling was annoying her with the continuous use of that damn nickname). The same Harry who was not as good as she was in theory and admitted as much himself (even if he was very, very good in anything practical). Granted, he was learning duelling, which wasn't something that Hermione was that hot for, but it didn't matter!

Why wasn't she being given advanced material like Harry was? It wasn't fair!

Hermione understood that she was over-dramatizing the situation and that she shouldn't be jealous of her friends, especiallysince _Ron_ didn't bat an eye at the special attention Harry was getting, proclaiming that "if it was needed, Harry would teach me, but now I need to do my damned Potions essays that I owe to the Greasy Lord of the Bats". And if Ron wasn't jealous, she shouldn't be at all!

But she was.

She was trying to beat the annoying emotion down, but she could only do so much. Only time would tell if she would be able to get over herself.

Harry was gliding down the stadium, waving his fist with the Snitch triumphantly. The roar of the stadium ignited something in him, as it always did in these sweet moments after victory.

Malfoy was already on the ground, sulking and dragging himself to the Slytherin locker rooms. His team was not much more chipper, glaring at the figure of their Seeker but not wanting to say anything that would compromise the fragile hierarchy of their house.

The Gryffindor team went to the school together, periodically sharing a group hug and laughing at the smallest things. They had that certain mood when you are at the same time tired and giddy, and feel like you can move mountains by bitch-slapping them.

The majority of the Gryffindor house was behind them, making cheerful background noise that made Harry smile fondly. The Seeker glanced at Fred and George, who have somehow gotten their hands on a few bottles of Firewhisky and were even now sharing it with the Chaser girls and their new Keeper, a cheerful seventh year named Luke Channeler.

Harry looked forward, at the Hufflepuff crowd, walking some fifteen meters ahead of them. After a second glance he identified the closest people to him as Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, and a crazy idea came into his mind.

"Hey, Harry, want a gulp?" Fred called, gesturing with a bottle in his hand. Angelina scowled at him.

"Don't be ridiculous, he's much too young to drink this."

"Give it here," Harry said abruptly and snatched the Firewhisky out of Fred's hand.

"Wait, Harry, it's serious, this isn't for kids. You don't need it," Katie tried to persuade him.

"I feel that I'll need it now," the boy grinned and took a sip. After a couple of seconds he got a pained grimace and gulped the substance down, starting to cough. Red clouds of smoke went out of his ears and nose, and some escaped his mouth.

"Wow. That... was something," he rasped and immediately drank again. This time he didn't wait a second to savour the taste, swallowing it straight away.

"That's the shit."

"Whoa, take it easy. Too much too soon," George commented, concerned, taking the bottle out of Harry's hands.

"Nah, I'm fine. Just a bit... braver. Now, wish me luck, guys."

"In what?"

Harry didn't wait for their responses, marching to his objective determinedly. _Gryffindors forward._

He quickly reached the chatting girls.

"Excuse me. Susan?"

"Yes?" the girl stopped and turned around, staring at Harry in surprise. He quickly swallowed his fear. _Come on, get it over with quick. The faster I do it, the less is the probability I'll stutter. _Harry breathed in.

"Will you go to Hogsmeade with me on this weekend?"

Whatever she expected to hear, this wasn't it. Susan stared at him with huge eyes, her jaw a bit slack. Harry had to force himself not to look at her slightly open mouth. _Bad brain, bad brain, bad brain..._

"You want to go out with me?" she asked faintly. Harry nodded energetically.

"Correct."

"Well... yes?" she didn't look very sure, but he would take what he could.

"Great! See you... see you this Sunday!" he waved and doubled back to his team, trying with all his strength not to sway from the sudden vertigo.

The twins were grinning. Katie and Luke were moderately amused. Alicia and Angelina were wearing proud expressions.

"They grow up so fast," Angelina pretended to brush off a tear.

"Oh, shut it, you," Harry grumbled, smiling nevertheless, wordlessly taking the bottle from George and accepting congratulatory thumps on his shoulder.

A couple of hours later, he sat in the indoor greenhouse-to-be, trying to figure out the problem of lighting.

Oh, and he was drunk.

His thoughts were alternating between running past him with the speed of sound, dragging with the slow determination of a flobberworm and veering off the needed road in a completely unplanned direction. The fact that despite it all he was still making progress was speaking highly about his determination.

The boy leaned back in the chair, almost overbalancing it and barely managing to grab onto the table to prevent himself from falling.

"Bad chair. Oooookaaay, we need one source. One. One so... source of sun food... Yeah," Harry chuckled.

"Or we need many, but plants will be confussssed. Why will they b-b-be confused?" he frowned. "Because they will see many little suns."

He grew quiet, letting the sound of his thoughts banging into his skull in constant movement soothe him. After two minutes of silence he lifted his finger and proclaimed quietly:

"We need a lot of curtains."

He hummed and added in a surprisingly clear voice:

"Invisible curtains. That means curtains made of magic. But if they are invisible, then light will still... penetrate..." he was sent into a fit of giggles.

"That means I need to see that ward scheme that Neville was waving around."

He got up and carefully walked to the other table, employing the wall as his walking aide. Soon, he was frowning at the slightly blurry to his eyes runic matrix.

"Ooookay. Now this can be modified, I guess. Need to ask Hermione... or not. Nah, Gryffindors forward."

Fifteen minutes later, most of which were spent reading a reference book of wards employed in botany, he got the most of what he wanted to do down. Another half an hour, fifteen tries, a lot of blue smoke, three small-ish explosions and an undetermined amount of obscene lexicon used, Harry was staring at the sole (yet) stone planter that had the runic set devised by him etched into its surface.

"It'll do," he muttered, reflecting on the fact that it is his first ward. "Now... go to sleep."

He stumbled out of the room, not bothering to close it, and started determinedly cruising towards the Gryffindor tower.

**Next day**

"So? Does it work?" Neville asked, looking at the symbols with respect. Harry was still frowning at them.

"Yeah. Yeah, it should do it. But I really don't know how I thought this up. I mean, I'm not that great at Runes – Hermione's way better."

"So, mind explaining this to me?" the blond gestured at the matrix they were leaning over. "Just keep it simple."

"Okay. I just might understand what I've done here..." Harry mumbled the second part, regarding the runes with befuddlement.

"See – the basis for all this I've gotten from that habitat isolation ward you've chosen, but I heavily modified it. Look, these two create an air barrier that prevents the air parameters of the space within the ward to be disturbed by outside interference and convention. Here is the pressure modifier, here's the barrier power. It's all well and good, but..."

"Wasn't it a 4x4 matrix?"

"Yes, it was. To make it do what I wanted I needed it to be a 5x5. The new 9 runes are what I've added," Harry violently scratched the back of his head, glaring at the offending configuration. After another moment a look of comprehension settled on his face. "Look. Here's the three to regulate visibility, those three mean that those regulations would apply to everyone and everything, but certain added individuals or things. The last rune is the one which serves to key people in."

"Ah. Okay. So, tell me if I got this right. This ward makes it so that the plants don't comprehend the fact that they are surrounded by light sources except for the one that is inside the ward?"

"Yep, sound about right. My first thought was to make the ward impervious to light completely, but then we wouldn't see anything inside."

"And you suggest applying it to all the planters? It seems overcomplicated, Harry."

"I was drunk. This piece of intoxicated brilliance is ridiculously overcomplicated, I'll give you that, but this is the best thing we have."

Neville snorted at the choice of words.

"What about the Main Hall enchantment?"

"Wouldn't work. See, that is basically a transparency charm. But this room is in the dungeons, if we made our ceiling see-through, all we would achieve is an ability to look up and see another class."

"Yeah, point taken."

**The same day, somewhere in the forest in the south of Britain**

Sirius was looking at the house in front of him in sadness. What he remembered to be a modest, but neat house grew much more rundown than he would have thought. He walked up to the door cautiously and knocked. There was a sound of something crashing from inside. Sirius twitched in amusement as he listened to the footsteps approaching the door.

"Who's there?" asked the voice he hasn't heard for a long time. Sirius smiled nostalgically and called out the old password for these occasions.

"The keeper of booze!"

The door slammed open and Sirius barely managed to dodge a nearly point-blank spell, his bones creaking slightly at the awkward jump sideways as soon as he finished saying his 'hello'.

"You dare come here, traitor?" Lupin snarled.

"Calm down, Moony! It wasn't me! It was Wormtail!"

"Don't you fucking say his name! You killed him! And sold Lily and James to the snake bastard! AND AFTER ALL THIS YOU COME HERE?! I'LL MURDER YOU!"

All through the speech, the spell fire continued. Sirius was deflecting all he could, shielding everything else, but never retaliating.

"Listen to me! I got cold feet before we cast that blasted Fidelius! I was friggin' afraid that I'd spill the beans under torture, and suggested that Peter become the Secret Keeper!"

"What?"

"I was strutting around and making the impression that I knew the secret, while Peter would make himself scarce and lie low. That was the plan."

"Keep talking," Remus growled.

"We didn't know that Wormtail really was a rat all along. He was the one who sold them out! Th... that night, I damn near broke down and immediately went after the traitor. When I found him, he screamed for all to hear how I was the one who betrayed them, blasted the street, cut his damn finger off and scuttled to the sewer in his true form!" Sirius was snarling by the end of it.

"Where's the proof?" the werewolf's wand lowered a bit. He was hesitating.

"The previous summer, Fudge visited Azkaban. He left me his Daily Prophet. There was an article and a photo – the one where the Weasleys had won the lottery and gone holidaying in Egypt."

"What does it matter?"

"On the shoulder of the youngest son, there was a rat: _The_ rat. I would never mistake him for another," Sirius pulled the clipping out of the pocket of his jacket and threw it to his once-best-friend. Lupin caught the paper, and not lowering his wand, glanced at it. Blood drained from his face.

"Peter..."

"I broke out the next week. Headed out to see how Harry is doing, then went to Hogwarts. I tried to break into the Gryffindor dorm, even succeeded, but the rat wasn't there. Later, I've dragged the Weasley boy off to talk to him. He said the rat was dead, that a cat ate it. I didn't buy it and after meeting Harry again, tried to search for him. I came across his trail near the Channel, but he shook me off. I tried to follow him to the continent, but had to give up a couple of weeks later. The slippery bastard vanished into the forests."

"I see..." Remus still was looking at the photo. When he raised his faintly shimmering eyes, Sirius was looking at him expectantly.

"How about a hug for an old friend?"

The haggard man made a choking sound and followed the advice with a fervour that made Black's ribs creak pitifully.

"Ack... don't kill me! Moony! Take it easy!" he rasped, patting the slightly shaking back of his friend.

"Shut up! Just... shut up!"

They stood there for some time, finally coming to grips with the situation. When they separated, in an unspoken agreement each pointedly ignored the wet eyes of the other.

"Come in, let's talk."

"Come in? You know what? Moony, grab your best gear, we are going to a bar. Or a night club. I think you need it."

Lupin smiled.

"Haven't changed a bit, have you, Padfoot?"

"You better not even hope," came a cheerful reply. "Nothing can tame me!"

"This honestly sounds like an awful idea. Wait a minute. I'll get my fancy suit."

"The green one?"

"The green one. I love the stasis charms."

**The next morning**

Remus blinked his eyes open and immediately shut them. As a werewolf, he had a resistance to alcohol, and his friendship with Sirius and James strengthened it to the point when he was called the Bar Juggernaut. Despite all that, his head was hurting.

"Oh blast," the man risked a slow and careful glance to the right. There was a wall. He turned his head to the left and Padfoot's slack-jawed face with a trail of spit on his cheek came into view. Remus would laugh if not for the ache in his head and back.

After further exploring his surroundings, Lupin ascertained that both of them were sprawled on the floor in his house' living room. He still had the green suit that Lily and James bought him in the seventh year on. The room itself had a couple of bags with bottles slightly visible inside.

The man rose slowly and, after carefully stepping over his friend, made his way into the kitchen, where he proceeded to lighten the giant anvil that he felt rolling around inside his skull.

Some fifteen minutes later, a figure stumbled inside the room, dropping immediately on the spare chair, making it creak dangerously. Remus silently offered a canister with marinated cucumbers. Sirius gripped it like it was his sole line to salvation and started gulping down the water inside it.

"Easy, easy. Leave some for the next time," Lupin noted dryly. Padfoot separated from the canister and placed it on the table, looking much more alive.

"Ah. Ooh. Much, much better. Bless that guy for telling us this trick. Say, why do you have marinated cucumbers?"

"I have a garden outside. I had to grow my own food. The dragon dung does wonders with the mundane plants, and it's relatively cheap."

Sirius looked at him seriously.

"These past years weren't easy for you, were they?"

"Like they were for you," Remus parried. "I survived."

"Yeah."

They were silent for a minute, each immersed in thought.

"What do we do now?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I... I want to meet Harry… Properly."

"Last I've heard, there are Aurors on guard duty in Hogwarts."

"Bah, not a problem."

"Dumbledore also hired Moody."

"Oh shit. Things just became a lot more difficult."

"Don't try to break in the school," Lupin told him severely. "Just don't. Wait for the summer holidays. Meanwhile, find out where Harry lives."

"Fine," Sirius grumbled, meanwhile plotting to infiltrate the school regardless. "What are you going to do?"

"Honestly, I'm conflicted. On one hand, you need a babysitter," the man ignored the indignant exclamation that followed. "On the other, I can do a lot that you can't where Wormtail is concerned. I have some connections with the werewolf communes on the continent. They will help."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not, but currently it's our best shot."

"Then I'll trust your judgement on this," Sirius took another swing from the canister and grinned mischievously. "But now, we need to get you laid. Did you see that girl from yesterday?"

"Padfoot..."

"She ogled you the whole time, and you didn't respond. Well, it was our reunion night out, so you're to be commended, but today you won't have such an excuse!"

"It's dangerous for you to be out, Sirius."

Lupin's tries to weasel out were fruitless, only fuelling his friend's determination to help him.

"One word: glamour charms. I won't hear any more objections."

**A house in the middle of London, covered by heavy-duty wards**

Rita Skeeter was bored.

Usually this didn't bode well for anyone of importance that would attract her fancy next. She was currently left without a 'project' – her word for a person to write articles about – and so was lying on the sofa, staring into the ceiling and contemplating the social scene of Magical Britain in a search for a scent of prey.

It was right then that an owl flew through the charmed glass of her window, bearing a violently pink envelope.

The reporter threw herself over the furniture, taking cover with a speed that would befuddle anyone who didn't know her very closely, which would account to just a couple of people. When one was a journalist that based her career on dragging big names through mud, one made a lot of powerful enemies and was forced to adopt a philosophy that was nearly as paranoid as the legendary Auror Mad-Eye Moody's. She peered out of her temporary haven to see the owl sitting on the table and staring at her amusedly. After verifying that the object that it carried didn't contain anything remotely harmful, wasn't magical in any way and wasn't sent by her asshole of a father, she grabbed small gold pincers and cautiously opened it. Out of the pink envelope fell a parchment of the same colour. Grimacing at the smell of extremely sweet perfume the letter was drenched in, Rita lifted it, already without any doubt as to who sent it.

There was only one person alive with such a... taste.

Roughly at the middle of the letter Skeeter threw all her (carefully hidden) dislike of the woman out of the window and was looking at the parchment with unholy glee.

She had a new project.


	13. Lover and Fighter

**Chapter updated: 22.11.14**

**Author's note**

Answering a question that was in a PM – yes, those snippets in _Italics _are going to happen. I'm writing them as teasers. Hopefully you love them.

Answering any questions that may come up about Susan – she is simply the first of many girls that Harry will have a relationship with. The final pairing is kinda obviously not her. Oh, and get your minds out of the gutter – I am firmly monogamous, and therefore Harry will also never be a part of a ménage de trois (aside from one single fling), or, gods forbid, a harem. I'm going for realism, people, so no such thing for you.

I have made some changes in the third chapter – in particular, Harry doesn't just get the prodigious skill in Transfiguration. McGonagall simply tutors him through all summer, correcting some critical misconceptions of his, so he does end up with some talent, but it's no more such a ridiculous instant power-up. If you have located any other cliché in any part of the story, PM me, and I will probably correct such oversight.

Follow, favourite and review – I'm not feeling the love here!

_Harry was sitting in a certain precious kind of café in Paris that lacks the pomp of the more high-priced establishments, but offers a good meal nevertheless. Harry was eating and staring outside as was his habit, occasionally humming the memorable rendition of the Hogwarts school song by Fred and George under his nose. When he was waiting for his tea, the dinner settling in his stomach with a pleasant feeling, the young man finally saw the person he was waiting for on the street. The blonde figure paused near the entrance, seemingly hesitating, but after a moment set her shoulders and walked in with a determined gait._

_She carefully glanced around, searching for something or someone. Harry grinned and, employing the trick he learned in Hogwarts while preparing for the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, whispered, his voice sounding as if it came from the air __**just **__behind the young woman's ear:_

_"Mademoiselle Delacour. I have been expecting you."_

* * *

**Chapter 13: Lover and Fighter**

* * *

Time was playing tricks with Harry – first, the week until his date flashed past him in a blink. Then, the morning before they would be let into Hogsmeade was stretching like rubber. The boy felt that it was already three hours at least since he got up despite his watch saying that it was barely sixty minutes.

Finally, after a long and scrupulous check with the lists, Filch opened the door and the students rushed out making excited noises. Harry hurried out, glancing around in search of a certain redhead he had a date with.

"Harry?"

He turned sharply, barely avoiding a collision with a Weasley twin, who winked at him in a most disturbing fashion and left, revealing a bemused Susan Bones behind him. Mustering his courage, the boy stepped closer, offering his hand.

"Shall we?"

She nodded, taking the offered limb. They turned towards the carriages and took their places in the quickly shortening queue. When they finally approached one of the thestral-driven contraptions, they quickly occupied one bench, leaving the opposite one to a pair of Ravenclaw seventh years, who spent the whole ride making out, which made things rather awkward for Harry and Susan, who were trying to make small talk and ignore the snogging duo.

When the carriage stopped, they jumped off with great relief. Unfortunately, they didn't walk ten meters before hearing a certain voice that promised a headache.

"Oy, Scar head!"

_Oh you've got to__be kidding me..._

Harry turned in the direction from whence the call originated and saw – surprise, surprise – Malfoy and his two apes. The former was smirking as usual, but he still looked rather put-off by something. To tell the truth, Harry was waiting for the blond to cause some sort of trouble, as there hadn't been even one verbal spat between the two ever since last year. It was just that the timing couldn't be worse.

"Yes, Malfoy?" Harry drawled, mirroring the blonde annoyance as well as he was able to.

"What are you doing with Bones?"

"What does it look like, Malfoy? I asked Susan on a date. Are there any other stupid questions?"

Malfoy frowned.

"Who in their right mind would go out with **you, **of all people?"

Harry shrugged.

"Beats me. I'm still surprised. Now, if you have no more comments, we shall depart," he glanced at his companion and she nodded. However, it wasn't to be.

"What, you're just going to walk away?"

"Precisely," Harry threw over his shoulder, doing exactly that.

"You're a pathetic weakling, Potter."

Harry's foot paused in the air. He turned slowly.

"Care to repeat that in my face?"

"Harry," Susan whispered, shuffling in place uneasily.

"You're a coward," Malfoy repeated with an ugly sneer, "What kind of man are you to let me insult you without retaliating? Some Gryffindor."

Harry breathed through his nose, calming himself. _Malfoy is deliberately and blatantly provoking me. Why? _After a moment's thought, he understood. _If I react and let it regress into a fight, my date is officially over, and in all likeliness I won't get another chance, even if I win..._

"Some Slytherin you are that a Gryffindor can see through your plots," he spat in an utterly disgusted voice and turned away from the boy. "Come on, Susan, he's just a sad, jealous git."

After a pause, he added in a very low voice:

"Still, I'll have to get him back for it."

"You let a couple of words get to you?" Susan was looking at him from the corner of her eye.

"Yes, a bit, but it's not about the words. It's about what he wanted to accomplish with them," Harry explained. "If our positions were reversed, I would not stoop so low as to try to break him up with his date, despite what I think of him. It's not right."

Susan smiled slightly as they entered the village.

"Gryffindor nobility, is it?"

Harry snorted and shook his head.

"No, just basic decency. It is not that only Gryffindors are supposed to be noble, is it? But that is a topic best suited for another time. What do you want to do here?"

"I was thinking about going to Honeydukes, then Gladrags, and after that it's your choice."

"Hm. Well, Honeydukes is a must – I wanted to buy some chocolate frogs – Ron's eaten my last package in a hungry midnight rave."

"'Midnight rave'?" Susan was visibly amused.

"Yeah, we call them that. Happens once or twice a month. Ron wakes up at the most ungodly hour and starts looking for something to eat as he's always hungry at the time and he isn't able to get any sleep that night. He usually ends up eating something of mine or Neville's. He doesn't really think that early in the morning and always apologises after the fact, so we let it slide. It's not like he can really help it."

"Hannah did want to know what happens in the Gryffindor boys' dorms," Susan quipped, hinting at the fact that Hannah Abbott was a well-known gossip-hound.

"Oh, there are a lot of interesting things there... but we have gone off topic. So, we're going to Honeydukes, and then Gladrags. Afterwards I want to browse the book store, and to top the day I suggest the Three Broomsticks."

"Approved,"

The couple walked through the village, enjoying the air of excitement that came with being let out of the castle. The fairy-tale feel that the village itself had only added to the cheery atmosphere.

In Honeydukes, it came to Harry's attention that Susan had a serious sweet tooth. He filed that away for later. Also, she proved to be really weak to very, very cheesy jokes and bad puns, which caused Harry to gently rib her about this.

In Gladrags he paid the price for that minute of teasing her, as he was instantly assigned to be a packing mule. By the end of the two-hour experience, Harry's arms were starting to grumble at him, his legs were in open revolt, and he himself was wishing desperately that he did look up those meditation instructions instead of discarding them upon reading that Occlumency couldn't be learned until hormonal changes finish.

In the book store, though, he was in his element. During the countless nights holed up in the Restricted Section learning about so many interesting things,he started to get a really good hang on the subtle art of guessing a book's contents by its cover – its material, colour, texture, all were clues for those who knew how to interpret them. Harry could swear that Hermione could understand this language by the middle of first year.

"What do you need here?" Susan asked, carefully placing two bags on the floor. Harry was intently staring at the shelves, as if wanting to commit every little detail of each tome to his memory. He didn't answer her for some time, until making an unintelligible exclamation and grabbing a dark blue book.

"Right in one," he commented, looking at the title.

"'Charming the Eyes, the Ears and the Noses, The all-fooling illusions'," Susan read the title of the book out loud. "Why are you interested in illusions?"

"Well, I thought it to be a good idea to learn how to use them, and the LDM approves," Harry answered distractedly, looking through the table of contents.

"LDM?"

"Little Demented Maniac, my nickname for Flitwick."

"Merlin, Harry, that's awful! He's the nicest teacher we have barring professor Sprout!" Susan was nearly screaming in indignation. She adored the cheery Charms Professor. Harry glanced at her with a lifted eyebrow.

"In the classroom, he is. But I'm learning duelling from him, and believe me when I say this: he can be a **monster **when he wants," he closed the book with a clap and walked further into the shelves, eyeing the rows in search for another book.

"You're learning how to duel?" that got her attention. Her aunt was sometimes complaining about the lack of competent applicants for the Auror programme, and it would be good for her to know there was someone with enough potential to attract the interest of Hogwarts' resident Duelling Champion.

"Correction: I'm learning how to _fight_. Flitwick said I have the potential to become a brilliant duellist, but I would do frighteningly well in a full battle. I'm playing to my strengths."

"What do you want to be in the future? Become an Auror?"

Harry mock-shuddered with a small laugh.

"Auror? Me?" he snorted. "I'm far too independent to take orders from anyone, and the thought of doing paperwork sends me into a depression. No, I would make an awful Auror."

"Pity. Auntie always rants about the lack of applicants for her department."

"Hm... ah, there you are," Harry took a Charm book that got his interest when he heard Flitwick mention it in passing as a good source of inspiration of particularly vicious spell combinations and straightened. "Well, that's all for now."

After paying for the books they went to the Three Broomsticks. The inn was completely full as usual, but they got lucky and didn't have to wait long for a table to be free.

"Well, let's talk. Tell me all there is to know about Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived," Susan quipped, sipping her butterbeer.

"They are two different people. The latter is a product of collective imagination of the magical community which has little to no basis in reality," Harry shrugged, masking his discomfort with his own mug. "The former... well, if I just told you all about me, where would be the fun in that?"

"All right. Very well. I'll ask questions, then."

"By all means, fire away."

"What happened in our second year? You know, when everyone was thinking you were the Heir?"

Belatedly, Harry remembered that Susan was one of the people who looked at him with fear and apprehension that year.

"What makes you think that I know what happened?" he tried to evade the question, but from the look in the redhead's eyes, she wasn't buying it.

"You and Weasley both received Special Awards for Services to the School." Susan replied blandly. "Not to mention the four hundred points that Gryffindor got at the end of the year. So spill, who was behind it all?"

"Who else? Voldemort."

The girl sputtered in her drink and Harry felt vindicated.

"What?" she rasped finally, blinking at him owlishly.

"An artefact of his, to be exact," Harry said casually. "It came to school and... well, it controlled a student. The opening of the chamber was the action it was programmed for."

"And what happened at the end? Someone was taken. Ginny Weasley, if I'm not mistaken."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, so..."

"Try me."

"Very well. I walked down to the Chamber, fought a thousand-year-old basilisk and destroyed the artefact."

"Basilisk?" Susan was pale. Very pale.

"The King of the Snakes, whose stare can kill, or, if seen indirectly, petrify its victims," Harry said heavily. "That was one giant bastard."

"How can I believe you?"

"You can either believe me, or you can call me a liar," the boy directed a murky gaze into his quickly emptying mug. "Either way, the carcass is, to my knowledge, still down there."

Feeling that the date was quickly going off track, Susan shook her head and tried to redirect the conversation.

"Screw the basilisk. What can you tell me about yourself? What do you like?"

Grasping at the suggested subject change, Harry gladly started to talk.

A couple of hours later as darkness fell, they walked towards the carriages, relaxed, joking and wrapped in a loose one-armed hug.

"Susan?"  
"Hm?"

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

"I thought it obvious. Of course."

Harry grinned widely.

"Good. Even if I get into all kinds of trouble?"

"Yep, I'll still be your girlfriend." She said matter-of-factly. "I'm a Hufflepuff, I'm loyal to the bone!"

The grin on the boy's face was so wide it bordered on being physically impossible.

"Even if I were to get into a fight with Malfoy and his cronies in a minute?" He asked leadingly.

"What?" the girl looked forward and saw the aforementioned threesome coming out of Honeydukes with Nott and Parkinson. "It will look bad, Harry."

"Don't care. Will you still be my girlfriend?"

"I will still carry you to Madam Pomfrey after they beat you down, you rash, foolish Gryffindor. There are five of them and only one of you."

Harry pushed her gently to the side, his eyes burning with excitement.

"You said it wrong: there's one me, and there are only five of them. Now stand to the side, I don't want you getting caught by a stray hex."

She obliged. He waited until the girl was standing under cover of the house next to them and shouted:

"Oy! Malfoy!"

The blonde turned around, as did the four other Slytherins.

"Pothead. So Bones ditched you? I knew she was far too sensible to be seen cavorting with one such as you."

"Tsk, tsk, Drakey-poo, jumping to conclusions..." Harry palmed his wand. "But it is neither here nor there. You wanted to pick a fight earlier. Congratulations, you have it. Parkinson, Nott, this is between me and Malfoy. You need not wait for him."

"Don't presume to command me, Potter," Nott growled. Parkinson sided with Malfoy, glaring at Harry balefully. He grinned.

"So it's me against you five? Oh, very well."

He could almost feel the adrenaline in his blood, making his heart beat faster, his reactions quicker, and his mind sharper. Immediately his brain started planning ahead; searching for cover in his surroundings at the same time. He remembered the mantra that Flitwick occasionally said: "When fighting multiple enemies, inconvenience them as much as you can."

_Obstruction, confusion and disruption are the names of the game._

The stare-off with all six having their wands drawn, but not moving, continued, with the Slytherins reluctant to send the first spell and Harry still planning. Finally, Malfoy smirked nastily.

"What; got cold feet, Potter?"

Harry stared at him unmoved. One second. Two. His eyes widened slightly and the corner of his mouth twitched. A whisper.

"_Glisseo._"

The spell was instant – no sphere of energy left Harry's wand that could be repelled. The results that it produced, however, were obvious to him. The ground under the Slytherins' feet lost all friction in the blink of an eye.

"_Aegis._"

The flash-type shield came not a moment too soon, as the sharp gesture of Harry's wand provoked his opponents, who reacted as one. Five spells impacted the translucent wall, which shattered after a moment, but Harry was already moving, transfiguring a wall of dirt with a spell that Flitwick showed him a couple of days ago and standing on one knee behind it.

It was a low, but efficient cover, as dirt grounded the spells that hit it. Unfortunately, it didn't help against spells that were exerting raw physical force and explosion-inducing magic. But in these conditions, it was what the doctor ordered. As two more follow-up hexes flew well off target, Harry threw his wand arm up and covered his eyes.

"_Lumos Maxima!_"

The immensely overpowered light charm in the darkness looked like a lightning strike, temporarily blinding the opposition. But in the moment when his hand was still out of cover, a lucky jinx impacted it, making it fall down in a boneless fashion, dropping the wand. Harry immediately snatched the wand and prodded the disabled arm. To his relief, he could still feel the bones within. He got up on his feet in a jump and clumsily sent a trio of immobilising spells at Nott, Parkinson and Malfoy. Due to his aim suffering from him using his off-hand, the one sent at Parkinson missed completely and Nott had thrown up a shield – a _Protego _by the looks of it – so the only one frozen in an awkward pose was Malfoy. Harry immediately followed the onslaught with an _Aguamenti _at Nott. He chose the water conjuration for three reasons – first, it was a sustained, but not very draining spell, so it was easy to aim even disadvantaged as Harry was. Second – it was pretty damn inconvenient fighting in cold weather wearing wet clothes.

Third – _Protego _didn't block physical objects, liquids and gasses.

Despite having his shield up, Nott received three gallons of water shot at him with some serious velocity, making him release a rough scream and a string of obscenities. When Harry turned his wand to splash at Pansy and the trio of shit-eaters (his private nickname for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle), they also added to the ambience their own verbal analogue of faeces-flinging.

Five more paralysing jinxes, and all five Slytherins were down, and Harry proceeded to walk towards them, absently _Finite-_ing his right hand. When it didn't work, he tried a _Finite Incantatem_, which fortunately restored some feeling to his wand arm.

"Once again, a cold mind wins the fight against berserker hamsters with twigs," he muttered, drying his opponents with lazy waves of his hand, as he didn't want anyone to catch something that would turn this short humiliation into something more serious. He approached Malfoy last.

"Listen, and listen closely. You are very, very far out of your league here. I suggest you stop messing with me while I am willing to leave you alone. If you continue this pointless delusion of rivalry, things will escalate. Your father cannot defend or help you here. The truth is that you are riding his coattails without any right to do so. You have neither cunning nor talent for talking as loud as you do. It would be best for you if you seriously rethought your position."

Harry sighed.

"But who am I kidding – you may delude yourself, but I can see that you are pure Gryffindor except you don't have much in the way of spine. You won't admit to being what you are, so I'm wasting my breath. The spell will wear off in a couple of minutes. You can, of course, run to Snape and whine like a little boy that big, bad Harry Potter beat you and five others, but even you will understand that it will make you the laughing stock of all Slytherin, heck, the whole school. Ciao, Malfoy."

**The same evening, Gryffindor Common room**

"Well?" was the question directed at Harry by his two best friends. Neville didn't ask anything, but his stare did that for him. Harry shrugged in answer, grinning widely as he threw himself down at the lone free armchair.

"What can I say? This was, without any doubt, a very productive day. I got a date with a nice girl, who later on agreed to be my girlfriend..."

"Whoo-hoo!" Neville cheered suddenly, shaking his fist in the air. His exclamation caused the others jump in their seats, and even forced a startled squawk out of a third-year Demelza Robbins who was passing by. Not paying the slightly embarrassed girl any mind, Neville pointed a finger at Ron, who was rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"Now you owe me ten sickles!"

"Ron, you bet against me?" Harry asked in a scandalised tone, privately laughing at the look on his friend's face.

"Well, it was just a spur of the moment thing..."

"Oh, Ronald... go on, Harry. How was the date?"

"What about it? I bought a couple of books from the store!"

"Ack! Hermione, did you bite him?"

Thump.

"I'm just joking. It was wonderful. She's really a very interesting person. Straightforward, nice, loyal. We went to Gladrags, and that _was_ a rather trying experience, but after that we had some butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. Then, when we went back, she agreed to be my girlfriend."

"Did you kiss?" Neville was waggling his eyebrows, which was looking rather strange on his face.

"Stop that, Nev, it makes you look like a moron. And don't interrupt. Just when I thought things were not likely to get any better, I got to kick Malfoy's ass!"

"Do tell!"

"Harry..."

"Well, he was throwing insults at me in the morning, trying to provoke me and spoil the date. I saw him later on, and thought: 'Why not?'..."

"Well?" Ron's face was rather eager – he looked like a kid who was waiting for a present that he knows is coming.

"Well, there – as always – were Crabbe and Goyle, the Compact Trolls Extraordinaire, Parkinson the Pug Banshee and Nott the Nose-In-Stratosphere."

"So, five on one? Or two?" Neville asked, shaking his head at the odds.

"Nah, I asked Susan to stand aside and pretend to be a part of the scenery. So, after some taunts were exchanged, I proceeded to rapidly and decisively humiliate the snakes."

"Details, mate, details!"

The boy happily obliged, still feeling slightly giddy from the confrontation. As the tale went on, the males in the auditory were starting to look more and more impressed and gleeful while Hermione was exuding an air of disapproval.

"Harry, youincapacitated five opponents on your own," Neville slowly summarised with his expression saying 'I wish I was that good'. Harry shrugged dismissively.

"It may sound cool and all, but it was no great feat. Of all of them, only Nott gave the impression that he had an idea of what he's doing. Malfoy isn't a fighter by any stretch of imagination, Parkinson was just plain nothing, and the less said about Crabbe and Goyle, the better. So, in the end, it's rather easy to do if you have a couple of brain cells and know how to rub them together to produce some pretty sparks."

"Yes, it seems so," Hermione nodded with a frown, remembering the details of the fight that Harry shared. "They had numbers, but when it came to business, from your words they were fighting like cavemen."

"Primitively, like Neanderthals," Harry confirmed. "Except for Nott."

"So what you did is fight tactically to negate their advantage."

"Yes. My first move was to make the ground slippery to prevent them from coming closer. This jinx is short-acting, it dispels after a minute or so, but it did its job. Then I created a cover that would shield me from the lesser spells that are, from my estimate, the only ones they know. After that I needed to negate the possible suppressive fire, and I blinded them. After that I showered them with water, which lowered their will to fight and distracted them, and then I finished it with a few immobilisers."

"You make it sound so damn **easy**..." Ron grumbled. Harry nodded.

"It could turn out much worse if they weren't so unskilled. I got lucky. Plus, I started to get real appreciasion for my lessons with Flitwick. I wish I got this training before the summer mess."

"Honestly, Harry, you shouldn't have done that. Now he will surely tell on you and..."

"And nothing," he interrupted what promised to be a rather long rant, at least 4.5 on Granger-Richter scale. "It is a win-win situation for me: if he keeps quiet, I'm safe from the wrath of the Great Bat, but if he tattles, I will turn him into a laughing stock for the whole school. See?"

She pursed her lips, but reluctantly nodded. Harry looked at her and suddenly started laughing heartily.

"Hah! You didn't object to the fact that I've beaten Malfoy, you were just afraid that I'm going to be punished! Ron, we've corrupted her!"

The ginger chortled at the thought, edging a bit further from the not-very-amused girl.

"Yeah. Do you remember the first year? 'We could get killed, or worse, expelled!'" he did a fairly good imitation of Hermione's voice. She mock-growled and swatted at him.

"Oh, shut it, you two!"

A minute later, when they settled down from a teasing match, Hermione huffed and tried to change the topic:

"How did Susan react to the fight?"

Harry grinned widely.

"She was very impressed."

"Did she kiss you?"

"Yes," Harry's grin went from 'wide' to 'shit-eating'. Neville stared at him.

"How was it?"

"Slightly wet. Sweet. All kinds of awesome."

"You're one lucky bastard, you know that?"

"You're damn right I am!"

Fifteen minutes later, Ron was looking at his potions essay, but his thoughts were nowhere near the four uses of salamander ash in potion-making. Instead, they were focused on Harry and consisted of slight jealousy and minor whining.

_Harry has a girlfriend. Damn. I want a girlfriend! Why don't I have one? _The boy looked up and shook his head slightly, clearing out the unneeded thoughts.

"Hey Hermione, would you mind checking this for me?"

"Wait a minute, I'm about done with this," came the answer from the girl which was glaring at the star charts that were needed for the next Astronomy lesson. While waiting for her to finish, Ron's mind started to wander back to the topic that mildly agitated him.

_Why don't I have a girlfriend? How do I get one, I wonder?_

He frowned.

_I'd assume that I will need to ask a girl out first. Baby steps, Ron, baby steps._

_ But who to ask?_

He was snapped out of his contemplation by Hermione sitting down next to him and taking his essay. Ron leaned back and looked at her, his eyes pausing at her lower lip, which the girl was nibbling at with her large front teeth.

_I wonder how it would feel to kiss her. What did Harry say – 'all kinds of awesome'? _He gave a slight start and shook himself mentally. _Bad brain, bad brain!_

But once taken, that road of thought was not so easily left. Ron gulped a bit.

_Hermione's a girl!_

"Uhm... Mione?"

"Yes? What, Ron?" she asked distractedly, her eyes running through the parchment seven miles a second. The boy opened his mouth to continue, but after a moment it closed.

"Nothing."

_What did I just nearly say? 'Hermione, you're a girl. Will you go out with me?' Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

"This is nicely written, Ron. Just correct a couple of words: it's spelled 'extracted', not 'extrackted', and there's one more l in the word 'solution' than needed," she smiled at him approvingly and walked away, placing the parchment on the table before him.

_What are you talking about? She's way out of your league, Ronnie-boy._

He rubbed the back of his head. The last thought sounded too much like the twins for his liking.

That night, the redhead was not fast asleep the moment his head touched the pillow as always. Instead, he was tossing and turning, thinking more than was strictly advisable before sleep.

_I have to admit – I feel something for Hermione. I dunno if I love her like a girl or I love her like a sister, though. Go figure._

He turned to the left, seeing Neville sitting on the edge of his bed and frowning at a small piece of parchment that he frequently scrawled on.

_As things are, even if I 'like' like her, she wouldn't be interested in me. Well, maybe she would, but what if not? It will be humiliating to be turned down and it'll make things more awkward than that prank Fred and George did that made people's pants so damn tight for a couple of hours. _He winced in phantom pain. _Yeah, way more awkward._

_ What to do? I'm not bright, I'm not that brave. I suppose that I'll stand with Harry and Hermione no matter what, but that's loyalty. It's not something to be very proud of – you either are loyal or you are a slimy traitor. In other words, I'm a decent guy, but it's not enough._

_ If she's out of my league, I need either to find myself someone more suitable, or... or... or somehow jump up to __**her **__league. How do I do that?_

_ Hermione's smart. Very smart, so much it's bloody scary. She's brave. She's kind. She... she's a great person. That's it. She's simply great._

_ I need to jump from 'decent' to 'great'. That's one hell of character development, and how does one go about becoming a great guy anyway? _

He turned to the right, seeing Harry half-sitting, half-lying on his bed, reading a book with a red cover in the light of a small ball of light hanging above his head. With a start, Ron realised that it was already dark in the room.

"Oi, mate!" he whispered. After his friend didn't as much as move, he called louder. When it also failed to get Harry's attention, he took a pillow and threw it at the brunette's head.

"Ouch, Ron, what the hell?"

"Finally – a reaction! Come on, I need to talk."

"What is it?"

"How can a person become great?"

Harry blinked in surprise and put his book on the headstand near him.

"Well that came out of nowhere. Let me think."

He cancelledthe light spell and lay down, putting his hands under his head and staring upwards thoughtfully.

"Well, it's a complex question. For starters, what do you mean by 'great'? Powerful? Having a place in history? Great as a person?"

"I suppose it's the last one."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you ask?" Harry tsked and repositioned his head so as to see Ron. The expression on the redhead's face was rather strange – 'strange' meaning 'not possible to interpret'.

"I... I think I want to be great," he finally said.

"Hm. Is it about me and Susan?" Harry asked in a sudden fit of observance. The answering silence was answer enough.

"Oh, Ron. Well, I don't rightly know what to tell you. Do you want to be great or to be cool?"

The pause was even longer this time.

"Cool won't do."

"Good. Well, let's think, shall we? What makes a person great?" Harry started thinking aloud. From the other side of Ron's bed, a raspy voice proclaimed forebodingly:

"Nutritive value!"

"Ack!" The ginger jumped in his bed, holding his heart and breathing loudly. "Damn it, Neville!"

Harry grinned in amusement and pride. Ever since Harry called him his friend, Neville started to become more and more out-going. And their giant argument over the species they were going to buy for their project showed that the quiet boy possessed a rather wicked sense of humour that started to emerge more and more as the days went.

"Well, there's that, but we need qualities that emerge not just post-mortem," he called out wryly.

"How about knowing when to go to sleep?" came an annoyed reply in Dean's voice.

"Hey, Dean. Come on, it's an important question!"

"My wet dreams are much more important. And they are the very definition of 'great'!"

"Crass as always, Seamus. Any other contributions to this discussion?"

"Well, there's charisma."

"How do you go about acquiring that anyway?"

"You don't, it comes naturally. I'd start with becoming smarter and more eloquent."

"Uhm, okay."

"Work out as well. If you go to such trouble to catch some bird, some muscles won't hurt. Find some self-confidence as you go. Okay, I'm out of advice."

"I suppose that the confidence bit will come to you if you become really good at something. Quidditch or I don't know what. Be the top guy in Charms or in Astronomy. You'll have to beat Hermione for that, though," Dean mused.

"It's all well and good, but it's secondary," Neville interrupted. Harry cocked an eyebrow.

"And what's your opinion, oh nutrition master?"

"Self-improvement. Constant self-improvement in all areas."

"That's pretty deep. When did you come up with that?"

"Just now."

"Heh, figures. Well, there you have it, Ron – constantly improve yourself, read smart books for big boys, starting with a thesaurus, find your best subject and become damn good in it and work out. As a side-bonus you'll get self-confidence, charisma and hordes of fangirls," Harry summarised cheerfully, and then threw a pillow at Ron. "Now, let's sleep. I'm bloody tired."

A chorus of agreeing mutters answered him.

Ron was swallowed by the realm of Morpheus soon enough, but not before he made a silent vow to himself.

_I will become great._

He dreamt, and he saw a vision much better than anything the Mirror of Erised could promise him.

**The next day**

"That's the last... one!" Harry huffed and stepped back.

Finally, all of the plants bar a couple of the rarer ones were in place. All that remained was to make the needed illumination, which Neville was also about to finish. The boy stood near the furthest crate and swished his wand in a motion.

"_Luminiaria Tempra!_"

The last sphere of golden light was brought into existence with soft crackling, and, slightly bouncing in the air, moved into the needed place. Neville sighed noisily.

"Well, that's it until the next package comes."

"Indeed," Harry nodded and smiled slightly. "Not that it'll be all fun and roses from now on."

"Harry, that was terrible."

"You think? Susan likes bad puns. And right now, I'm thinking of showing her this, if only because of the sheer amount of puns in my mind right now. After all, we need to demonstrate the fruits of our hard work..."

"That was even worse."

Despite his words, Neville was obviously fighting a smile. Harry shrugged and waved at the little garden.

"Well, it was just a thought. Now all we need to do is not screw up anything, and by the end of the year, our efforts will bear fruit, as it were."

"I hate you."

** Author's note**

If you're wondering why the hell Harry attacked Malfoy – he was more than a bit annoyed at him, was certain in his victory and wanted to show off to Susan a bit.

Till next time!


	14. Lurking Menace

**Chapter updated: 22.11.14**

_Hearing the door open, Harry looked up from the pile of sketches, books, reference cut-outs and minor knick-knacks on his table. A gaunt figure strolled to him and without warning perched itself on the said wooden object, encrusted with stones similar in appearance to emeralds and liberally decorated with bone motived alabaster ingots._

"_You look like shit," the visitor told him bluntly. Harry smirked at the admission, knowing from the numbness of his face that the bags under his eyes could rival the sea over the Mariana Trench in the colour department._

"_It seemed like it was a job requirement. Have you recently used a mirror?" was the dry retort. The visitor shrugged._

"_I'm albino, we're pale from birth. What's your excuse?"_

"_Determination."_

"_'Determination without proper care for yourself leads you to nowhere', as Master Luen said when looking at the remains of yet another guy who didn't apply all needed precautions when summoning a Bone Man. Even in our dusty, pale, deathly cold society, everyone knows to eat when you have to and rest once in a while."_

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Lurking Menace**

The morning of the 5th of November was a chilly, crispy clear one, promising a similarly nice continuation of the day. It looked like there simply couldn't be anything wrong with the world.

That was why Harry felt like someone had sneaked up on him and strangled him with his favourite pants.

He was re-reading an article that sat right on the front page of the Prophet, glaring at everyone who looked at it with the eyes of Harry's photo, taken quite obviously (to him) right before he called out Malfoy for that duel. He was looking rather feral, with his eyes glittering wildly and a manic grin sometimes spreading his lips. The wind that constantly ruffled his already messy hair only added to the image of a guy a couple runes short of an aett.

The article was even worse.

_**Who is the Boy-Who-Lived?**_

_"The wizarding world was always more than slightly enamoured with the image of the national hero, Harry Potter. He defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was in his crib, and then vanished into the night while all across the islands glasses were raised in his name. Ten years later, he returned to the public eye, taking his place at Hogwarts. He was sorted in Gryffindor, as his parents were, and then it was as if he wasn't there – there were no great feats of magic, no brilliant academic results, and no remarkable achievements that reached the attention of our society. Of course, some know that he was immediately chosen as a Seeker for Gryffindor – the youngest player in Hogwarts in a century – but aside of that, our hero faded away from notice, seemingly content with the lack of attention._

_ The next thing we know, he is revealed to be a Parselmouth, which was always counted as a mark of a Dark Wizard. Some say that it was an obvious conclusion that the only one who can destroy You-Know-Who was the one who was just as dark. Others laughed it off, declaring it preposterous that a baby could be evil. But... who is right?_

_ Recently, this reporter witnessed herself that Potter indeed is a singularly powerful individual, soundly defeating five peers without being as much as touched by any spell the victims sent. The attack, though not by any means sudden and not resembling an ambush, was seemingly unprovoked._

_ Knowing this, shouldn't we ask ourselves: just who is Harry Potter?  
I am determined to find the truth._

_ Special Reporter Rita Skeeter_

"Damn."

"U-hum," Susan agreed, eating her Harry-made omelette with gusto. When Harry asked her to come with him down to the kitchen in the morning, she was reluctant to agree, but the second she understood that her new boyfriend was capable of cooking on par with (sometimes even better than) the house-elves, she was sold. As soon as she tasted the eggs fried with toasts – heavily modified and featuring a rather hot sauce of Harry's own creation – she firmly declared that she intended to keep Harry around for quite a long time. 'At least until you tell me the recipe', she added slyly. The boy was quite happy to hear that in addition to her sweet tooth, she also was in love with food that was so hot it almost made you look like you drank Firewhisky – something they both shared.

The article was careful, not very decisive, not hanging labels and pointedly lacking any pointing fingers. For someone like Skeeter, it was extremely mild. Despite this, Harry could feel it in his bones that it only marked a start of similar articles, each one sounding worse than its predecessors and culminating in the complete and utter decimation of his reputation.

He clearly saw the plump hand of Umbridge behind this.

"Damn. Shit. I'm screwed if I let it lie."

"Why so?"

He explained.

"Can I just... sue her? Or the Prophet?"

"Won't work. They have very good lawyers. No one ever won a case against them, which is why she still writes," Susan generously applied the sauce to the toast and bit into it. "She's made a career on writing sensational articles that bust big careers."

"Maybe hire some muscle to scare the damn woman?" Harry mused half-jokingly. The girl lifted her eyes from the tea and glared at him, making the boy slightly shrink and raise his hands in an 'I come in peace, please don't eat me' gesture.

"Joking, joking."

"Don't even joke like that," Susan warned him in a Very Serious Voice. "I can laugh about your casual disregard for the school rules and think it fun and roguish, but the law is the law."

"Hey! I'm not that I'm some sort of... of... you know," Harry waved his hands in the air in indignation. "I respect the law. As long as it actually makes sense, I wouldn't just break it without a damn good reason."

"Makes sense?" Susan rose from the table in agitation, forgetting about the breakfast. "Makes sense? It's always about sense!"

Harry shook his head.

"Not in Wizarding Britain, it's not. Here, it's about higher-ups wanting to get some profit."

That deflated the girl instantly.

"Auntie sometimes rants about the corruption in the Ministry," she murmured quietly. "She says it's something that she just can't do anything about except for protecting her department from it to the best of her ability."

Harry shrugged.

"The first things every government loses are decency and common sense. Don't worry too much about it. It's normal."

"But I don't want it to be normal!"

Harry quirked an eyebrow at the passionate outburst.

"Is it your ambition? To make the Law work as it is meant to be?" he asked. After a short hesitation she nodded.

"Yes. Auntie has always wanted to clean the Ministry and its laws from any corruption. Unfortunately, the progressives are few and far in between in the Wizengamot as well as amongst the usual workers."

"Progressives? Do tell."

"Well, it's a movement that calls for the change in our way of life and stopping the constant bribery. It consists mostly of those who view Muggles favourably. Muggleborns, purebloods not affiliated with the other factions."

"Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore has his own followers. He supports the progressives verbally, but rarely actually does anything. He's much too old to fully embrace the philosophy, though to give credit where it's due, he's amazingly tolerant of us and is one of the only people to actually listen."

"I see," Harry frowned. "What of the other factions?"

"Well, there are the moderates, which mostly consist of opportunists who don't know themselves what they are going to vote for next week. Wild cards who love sitting on the fence, but they are quite numerous. Lastly, there are the Dark traditionalists. I don't think I need to say anything about them."

"Death Eaters and sympathisers, filthy rich, have the Ministry in their collective pocket, inbred and ugly."

"Right in one."

**Next day**

Surprisingly, no staff members approached Harry about the duel that was spoken about in the article. Snape glared at him with heightened intensity during the dinner and Flitwick was much more demanding than usual during their evening lesson, but that was it.

Harry was really glad that he got away scot-free, even if he regretted the missed opportunity to publicly humiliate Malfoy. Nevertheless, it did not save him from the headache he was feeling now, listening to Luna and Hermione bicker.

Well, it was more like Hermione snapping at Luna, who was still talking in her serene not-quite-there voice.

"And I said that there is literally no evidence whatsoever to support the existence of the creatures you're talking about!"

"Of course there isn't. Crumple-Horned Snorkacks produce a mild Notice-Me-Not effect which makes it very hard to look for them without the needed tools. Daddy made them, and with them he can see Snorkacks."

The bushy-haired girl closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. They had been going at it for ten minutes already, and her patience was running thin.

"Has he ever seen one?" she asked very quietly and very slowly.

"No," was the cheery answer.

"Then what makes you think they exist at all?"

Luna looked at her with eyes that even for her were very large, conveying her state of extreme surprise.

"What makes you think they don't?"

Hermione moaned slightly and sank her face in her hands, muttering something under her breath.

"I can't... lunacy... warped logic..." were the only things that Harry heard when he stood up and dragged the still dismayed and frustrated beyond belief girl away.

When they reached a secluded place, Harry released Hermione and turned to her.

"Hermione, please, pretty, pretty please stop antagonising Luna."

"But Harry, she..."

"No buts. My head won't survive another spat between you two," he started to pace. "I understand that you have a problem with her beliefs..."

"Harry, it's her logic I have a problem with! The lack of such, to be exact!"

"For her, having proof of something isn't required to believe in it. So what?"

The girl sputtered.

"Let's look at what's happening from another perspective, shall we? When you think about, what you're trying to do is to force your views on others. Luna, specifically."

"Force... beliefs?" her mouth kept opening and closing. Harry nodded seriously.

"Yes. For you, one of the defining principles of life is logic. For her, it's faith. It doesn't mean that her views are deficient, or in any way inferior to yours. It's like comparing a thermometer with seismometer as to which is able to determine air pressure better!"

They were silent for some time, each deep in thought. Finally, Hermione nodded grudgingly.

"Fine, Harry. You made your point. I'll try to keep from arguing with Luna from now on."

"Good. Thanks."

"So I was forcing my belief upon her. What did you call me two months ago? Dark Lady Hermione?" she wore a pained smile. The boy turned to her and on an impulse put his hands on her shoulders.

"Hermione. Listen. You are the kindest, most compassionate and loyal person I've ever met. Don't ever doubt yourself."

He let her go and pointedly ignored the slightly misty look in her eyes. After coughing into a fist to banish the momentary awkwardness, he continued:

"It's just that you sometimes go overboard in your attempts to help people and try to correct them even when it's not needed. That's where your problems lie. The only reason you got into a debate with Luna was that you liked her and tried to_help_her as you saw fit. Now, I think that you've gotten much better in the past months. It'll come as you mature, I think."

"I'm much more mature than you are, Harry," Hermione retorted dryly, but she obviously took his words to consideration. The boy shrugged with a relaxed expression.

"Yep. That you are. But hey, who's counting? After all, we're all are downright wizened old warlocks compared to Malfoy."

"An eight-year-old would seem mature and wizened compared to him."

"Precisely," Harry grinned and immediately received a swat to his arm for his trouble.

**15****Th**** November, Crouch Residence, outskirts of London**

Bartemius Crouch Junior was feeling completely apathetic.

It was a norm for him. The victims of continued exposure to the Imperius often suffered emotional stunting even when freed from the curse's influence. The First Unforgivable left very deep scars in a person's psyche if someone was under it continually for over a month.

And he was under it for nearly **twelve years.**

He sometimes thought that being freed from it would be extremely uncomfortable even for him, who was taught Occlumency by an absolute master of the art. His master. His Lord.

He knew that the Dark Lord was still alive, as he has told his Inner Circle about his immortality in passing. Barty knew that his duty was to search for his Master, and search he would… Just as soon as he broke out.

His father was not a professional in the Dark Arts, far from it – he resented them with a passion. It was rather ironic, taking into account the sheer ability he demonstrated for the Imperius. The spell required intent to completely and utterly control, dominate, and subjugate another. And that intent Crouch Elder, being the control freak that he was, had in spades. It would be almost enough to smash through the Occlumency barrier around his son's mind – almost, but not quite. So in response, the Head of the Department of International Cooperation of the British Ministry and the erstwhile Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had come up with a solution. The Animus Shatter.

It was a **heavily **restricted potion – and for a good reason. The Animus Shatter, as the name implied, completely eradicated all mental defences and sapped the will of the recipient. A couple doses a week were enough to keep Barty leashed, trapped in the cage of his own mind.

The first few years, at least.

Crouch Elder wasn't a complete master when it came to the Imperius, never bothering to learn it in all its intricacies, just using the method of blunt force. Therefore, he wasn't as successful as he hoped. A proper Imperius, cast by a Death Eater who knew what he's doing, like Rookwood or the Lestranges, would halt any thoughts in the victim that were not related to the orders given by the caster. And those orders were long and comprehensive, not leaving a single hole in them to be exploited by a rebelling brain.

Crouch, though, was not such a master. His instructions were basically "Stay in your room, keep quiet and don't start any trouble." Barty nearly laughed when first subjected to them, but the emotion-dulling effects settled in before he accidentally gave up the fact that his father was doing it wrong.

He obeyed the orders, naturally. The curse kept a strong hold on his weakened mind. But he was able to twist the rules a bit. He asked Winky for books, and she obeyed without bothering to tell his father, as she thought it to be all right for the Young Master to be able to read. The books were what kept him from going completely insane.

With every year, the grasp he had on his mind was strengthening. He was slowly, but steadily building up resistance to both the spell and the potion. Already he could completely break the shackles on his will on the third day after the administration of the potion. Barty has been planning his escape for quite a while, but he was careful to make sure that his father did not see any signs of his increasing independence. He wouldn't sabotage his only attempt to get out from his father's control and seek out his Lord.

He already knew how he would do it. A week from now he would use his admittedly not very impressive talent for wandless magic – the only kind he could practise during his house arrest – to unlock the door. Winky would try to stop him, so he would knock her out when she appeared in his room in the evening before doing anything else. After that, he would kill his father in his sleep, take his wand and destroy the whole house with Fiendfyre. It will not leave any clues for the Aurors, therefore, it will not make them suspect that he was still alive and complicate matters. They will, in all likeliness, decide that it was the work of Death Eaters or sympathisers, but he was _dead _and therefore, not guilty. Case closed.

After that, he was going to seek out his Master. His Dark Mark, together with a simple ritual designed just for that purpose, would aid him in that.

Barty closed his eyes, willing the apathy to disperse. After a brief struggle, the curse lifted. He smiled slightly.

_ Soon._

**Deep in an unspecified forest, almost midnight, 28th November**

"Faster, Wormtail!"

"Yes, my lord, I'm trying!"

Anyone who by some strange caprice of fate passed by a certain clearing in Northern France would be very mystified and/or frightened indeed. The snow was stained with goat blood, spilled in four careful circles around a big ring of black soot. Four slightly smoking urns were placed in the sacrificial circles (for that was what they were). The unfortunate watcher would be strongly advised not to look inside of them and even stop thinking about what the contents could be at all.

To top the occult ambience, the middle ring had a wraith floating inside it, hovering a meter above the earth and slightly fidgeting (if the word could apply to what seemed to be a formless mass of black smoke). The only material person nearby was a man seemingly in his forties, of that rare kind who are fat and at the same time could be said to be rather gaunt. A somewhat repulsive combination on a good day, it was further worsened by the fact that the man by his mannerisms strongly resembled a rat.

Peter 'Wormtail' Pettigrew was not having a very good day.

First, his master had him run errands to get him some rather suspicious, not to mention disgusting, ingredients for a certain ritual that he hadn't bothered to explain to his servant until just before the said servant was ordered to perform it. Fortunately, it was rather simple, the Latin and a bit of Hebrew required was easy to remember and there was no need to inscribe any kind of runes.

Despite this, Pettigrew was very, very unsettled by the transpiring events. He would bolt from there, but the thought about what waited for him in Britain stilled the thoughts about fleeing his master.

Finally, the last words of the chant were said and the circles of blood flash-ignited with tall, dark green flames. With a sound that sounded disturbingly like a pained moan, all fire lifted in the air and started spinning around the wraith, slowly moving closer and closer to the disembodied wizard. The closer it moved to its target, the brighter it burned, changing its colour from deep green to blue and then pure white. Pettigrew was forced to look away and cover his eyes lest he be blinded with the unbelievable brilliance. In his soul, full of fear and concern for his own skin, appeared a feeling rare for him. And that was awe: Awe of magic that was much more powerful than he was able to perform, infinitely more ancient and frightening.

Amongst the roar of the arcane flame a long, agonised scream sounded. Wormtail winced and tried to cover his ears as well, awe leaving as abruptly as it came, giving place to a much more familiar emotion of fear.

The tortured wails didn't continue for long. Gradually, the light receded, and the cries turned into moans of pain, and when the darkness again covered the place, the whimpers changed into chuckles, then laughter.

And after that – full-blown cackling.

Peter risked looking back and was struck speechless when, instead of a black cloud, lacking any kind of definition aside from a spectral face in front of it, he saw what seemed to be a young, handsome man with black hair and green eyes. The only clue that pointed towards the man's status was that he was slightly translucent, not as much as a ghost, but enough to see the burning grass behind him, the snow long since melted under the unrelenting heat.

"You have done well, Wormtail. It is not as good as a physical body, but it will do for now. Do you have my wand?"

"Master," he murmured, taking the piece of yew that he had preserved for all those years from his pocket and offering it to Voldemort handle first. The wraith reached for it with something that could be taken for reluctance, but in reality it was anything but. Reverently, the Dark Lord touched the wand with translucent fingers and lifted it in his favourite loose grip, handling his wand as one would a whip.

"Oh, how I missed this," he whispered and with a sharp gesture sent a spell into the closest tree. It cracked, but still stood upright.

"In this form I can interact with magical objects, but I lack any physical strength," he explained to his still bowing servant. "In addition, without a body to serve as a conduit of my power the strength of any spells I do will be greatly diminished. But, if everything goes according to plan, I will not need to cast anything powerful until I walk this earth in a body of my own once again."

"Plan, my lord?"

"Yes, Wormtail. I always have a plan."

**4****th**** December, the Diagon Alley**

As the Christmas was closing in with the determination and swiftness of a freight train (one with bells and whistles on it) the Alley was already busy. The relaxed air, created by the fact that there was no rush to go buy this or that, was a balm on a certain wizard's soul.

Said man was sitting in Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour, eating the divine dessert in front of him and trying very hard indeed not to indulge in nostalgia. It wouldn't be a very smart move to allow himself to start crying and attract attention. Plus, it wouldn't be manly by any means.

Sirius had to blink and rub his eyes to ward off another flashback of him sitting here together with the other Marauders. James was a real glutton when it came to ice-cream, not that the others were opposed to eating the frosty goodness. It was just that no one could eat it in the same ridiculous amounts that Prongs could. Wormtail tried once on a bet and lost spectacularly, but not for a lack of effort on his part. Florean had to Floo them both to St. Mungo's with tummy-aches and migraines.

Sirius shook his head, chiding himself for remembering that day. Remus has recently departed to the continent in order to contact the many acquaintances he made during the war. He promised to return with news in a couple of months, and told Padfoot many times not to do anything stupid. The man smirked slightly. Sometimes Moony worried too much.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of someone sitting down on the table behind him. Several someones, to be exact.

"Who wants what? My treat today."

"You sure? I seem to recall a certain Auror telling us that she's broke..."

Sirius very carefully schooled his expression under the glamour he was wearing. He would have to be doubly wary as long as there were Aurors in the vicinity.

"Nah, it's fine. I've got a bonus for 'being vigilant'. Moody complimented me in front of Scrimgeour, so I am about to get a raise in the near future."

"Good for you. You deserve it, despite being Miss Disaster Zone."

"Hm."

The trio of women got their desserts levitated to them and tore into them with gusto. After a minute the woman that kept silent so far said:

"Damn, I'm so jealous of you. You get to live in Hogwarts while I'm stuck behind the table doing paperwork."

Sirius, already rising to leave, sat back and called for a second ice-cream. This was getting interesting.

"Oh, it's not that good. Sure, I get the Hogwarts food, a nice room that the house-elves clean, all I have to do is patrol for four hours a day, and... Yeah, it's that good!" the Auror laughed.

"Damn, Tonks, you don't have to rub it in!"

Sirius choked. Tonks? As in Ted Tonks? Ickle Nymphadora went on to become an Auror?

"Yes, I have and you know it. Would you remind me who paraded her promotion to us a year ago?"

"Touché."

"Has the school changed since we were there?"

"Not much. Hagrid's now the Care of Magical Creatures professor."

"Oh. Bet the big guy's happy."

"Radiant, he is. Moody's the Defence for this year, so..."

"Merlin help them."

"What she said."

"Stop it. The little munchkins love him. Workaholic said he was the best thing that happened to the subject in his years apart from some guy named Lupin who taught last year."

"The werewolf?"

"Yeah. Good teacher, he said."

Sirius smiled slightly and made a mental note. This remark could become a good source of teasing.

"Wait. Who's this 'workaholic'? A student?"

"Oh, right, I haven't gotten around to telling you. Guess who I met in Hogwarts."

"No idea."

"Come on, do tell!"

"Harry Potter."

"Ah. Read the article?"

"That was before that piece of crap. Workaholic swore at Skeeter for days after."

"'Workaholic'?"

"I met him when he was limping from a study session with Flitwick. From what I gathered, he works like a bee. So ... workaholic."

"Charms guy, huh?"

"That too, but he's learning duelling."

"Oh. Hot for our department?"

"Nope. He told me once that trouble keeps finding him, and he wants to be prepared for what they'll throw at him next."

"He must be in love with Moody."

"He is. Sings serenades to the old bastard. Oh, and he's a terror with illusions. Loves to prank people with them."

Sirius barely held himself from sacrificing a spoonful of ice-cream to the gods of spit-take.

"He didn't like me teasing him and made it seem like everyone was walking upside-down. The weirdest morning of my life."

And on it went. Ten minutes later Sirius had to leave as the company was starting to throw him strange looks.

_Harry's a prankster. Hah! I hope James is looking from wherever he is. _Sirius stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron with a wide grin on his face, looking up at the cloudy sky. _Well, I just need to help him in this noble calling, don't I?_

After a minute he nodded resolutely and turned on a heel, Apparating away with a crack.

He appeared in front of a house he hadn't set foot in for over seventeen years. Even when he was on the run last year he didn't even come close to the street it was on. Sirius looked over the worn-down, grim exterior with a lifted eyebrow. He knew that his bitch of a mother died when he was in Azkaban, but the house still shouldn't be as... decrepit as it was. Steeling himself, he opened the door with a swish of his wand and strode inside.

The house was a mess indeed. Sirius conjured a bubble of air in front of his face with a wince, as the amount of dust that his steps sent in the air was just obscene.

"Seems like Kreacher's dead..." he muttered. "Good riddance, I suppose. Damn it!"

He stumbled over an extraordinarily ugly umbrella stand shaped like a troll's leg. The racket it made was rather unpleasant in the empty house. The voice that came after it was even more so.

"YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THIS HOUSE?"

Sirius jumped, startled, and reflexively sent a Reducto in the vague direction from whence the shout came. The spell splashed harmlessly against a painting of a rather ugly old woman.

"What the... Ah, so you have made yourself a painting. Long time no see, **mother**," a deaf man couldn't deny the loathing in his tone.

"YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE! GET OUT!"  
"I will, as soon as I get what I came for," he responded and turned away, lifting his wand, its end shining with a Lumos.

"YOU WILL GET OUT NOW! KREACHER!"

A house-elf in filthy drags appeared on the floor before the portrait with a loud crack. His skin was yellow from age, but his beady eyes still shone with life and intelligence. And with hatred directed at Sirius.

"The disappointment has come."

"Shut up, Kreacher," Sirius threw tiredly. "And get lost."

The elf stiffened, and, to the man's surprise, vanished from sight with the characteristic sound of house-elves.

"Huh. That's... wait. Father didn't disinherit me. Therefore, I was the heir even after I pulled the runner," Sirius muttered. "This house, the elf, they are mine!"

This thought didn't come in his head when he got his money from the goblins the first time and was told that he was given the control over the Black family fortune. He took the money, glanced over the properties, and that was it.

He walked up the stairs, completely disregarding the screams of the painting. The library doors were spelled shut, but he managed to find the needed counter-spell in a couple of minutes.

The Black Library.

It was something that every pureblood in Britain, and some abroad, knew and dreamed about. Filled to the brim with tomes of knowledge that were thought to be long lost, the books on magic so dark even Voldemort would find somewhat repulsive, ancient manuscripts of rituals employed by all magical traditions ever since the time of Pharaohs, it was a secret that everyone knew, but didn't talk about.

And it was here that Sirius searched for the perfect present for his godson who had recently taken up pranking.

As a young boy, he had taken to using the dusty hall of the library as a sanctuary. No one would ever suspect him of using it, so it was a good thought to stay there in the times when his family got absolutely unbearable.

Which was quite often.

As a result, he knew the room and how it was organised very well. He knew which books weren't really dark and were just valuable, which ones he needed to stay well away from and what he really didn't want to read or even touch – the result of many, many close calls.

He was currently standing in the section that was dedicated to Illusion and Mind Arts. With a slight crease in his brow he looked through the titles, selecting what was actually useful for someone who wasn't willing to die in the process of reading and/or possessed some shred of morals.

After a while, he had narrowed down the search to three books. Packing them in a conjured bag, he walked to the Rune section and added a book that was, in his opinion, pure gold, as he learned more about the practical side of the Ancient Runes from it than he did from the professor.

He left the house with a spring in his step and a mocking wave in the still shouting painting's direction.

**Wilderness somewhere in the ass of the world, jungles approximately in India **

The storm was sudden and staggering, like the burst of cold water out of the shower head in the morning that kicks you in your sleepy, unsuspecting face.

The thunder rumbled in the boiling clouds, and the rain drops started falling at the leaves with speed, force and bull-headed determination of bullets. The sound was also rather reminiscent of a mini-gun battery firing.

The rain itself, however, wasn't that notable in this particular climate despite its capability to make an unprepared person look around in search of their brown pants. No, what was unusual was the bright flash of light that pierced the darkness and temporarily blinded a grumpy, hungry python which was about to pounce on a monkey that was sitting on a low branch, covered from the waterfall on steroids that was occurring outside of its temporary sanctuary. By the time the snake regained its vision its intended prey has long since jumped away with great fervour. The python hissed out a few swear words in Parseltongue and left to contemplate its disappointment.

Was the snake to linger further, it would bear witness to the flash repeating with even increased intensity. The light came from a... hole in the space-time continuum, not that the reptile would think of it in any terms other than _whose-idea-was-it-to-drop-the-sun-in-front-of-me. _The tear in the fabric of the universe closed in a blink, but not before spewing out a figure in dark robes. It fell on the grass with a muffled grunt. After a brief time spent lying limply, it suddenly shook and stood up with a decent amount of speed and grace for one who was so not-gently deposited on cold, hard ground. From the form that the rather high-quality dull-green robe hinted at, it was a male. The stranger coughed with a slight wheeze.

"Unbelievable... I made it out alive. Take that, Mad King," he said in a soft tenor, lifting his face upwards.

Said face was covered with a richly encrusted white mask painted with black swirls that depicted an expression of complete contentment. Two blue lights glinted from behind the eye holes.

"But where, by the Cycle, am I?"

The man seemed to listen to something for a while, and went completely rigid from shock.

"I... did it. I am out. At long last, I have reached my ambition," he started chuckling. The quiet laughter gradually made way to maniacal cackling that stopped just as soon as it started.

"Now what?"

**Author's note**

Sorry for the long wait, but I haven't been just sitting around. I now have a good outline for the next dozen or so chapters, so the writing should speed up quite a bit. I thank all those people who review this story and point out my mistakes. A karmic cookie for them!

Also, I have rewritten my first chapter and made appropriate updates to the others. The Voice, while a good idea, was just there to justify the character development shift and it could be done much better without it. So, no second consciousness for Harry.

If you're wondering who the last scene was about, well, I'm not going to spoil the surprise. I've left enough clues so that those who are familiar with that particular universe will immediately know him, and to the others I'll say: wait and see. He's going to be a major player in the later part of this story.

I think I need to speed things up a little, as it is the fifth chapter of the fourth year. I don't like the projected length of time until the real fun starts. So, the next one or two chapters are going to be the end of this year.

Review, follow, favourite – the more people do it, the more motivated I am to write and improve the posted material!


	15. Revelations

**Author's long note**

Hey guys, I've missed you!

Now, before you either start cheering or bring out the pitchforks and torches, let me explain the three silent months. I got a new beta, Teufel1987, whose awesomeness cannot be fully expressed in written words. He and I decided to go through the already posted chapters before moving on to the new ones. Never fear, I have continued my work on this story and have two more chapters more or less ready, if in need of a proof-reading or two.

To make something perfectly clear: barring something extremely unpleasant and/or world-changing this story will be finished. I admit I messed up by posting this as I write, and the possible sequel(s) will be uploaded after they are finished, but this is something that I sincerely cherish.

Now, on to the story.

**Last chapter: **Skeeter began the smear campaign against Harry by the urging of Umbridge, who is still sore about him swindling her. Barty Crouch Jr. plans to escape, Voldemort regains some tangibility, and Sirius decides to send Harry a present.

_Harry bit his lip, making sure his hands weren't shaking. This part demanded extreme precision. He carefully drew the first rune in the sequence, the snake-like symbol lighting up with slight silver luminescence. Encouraged, Harry continued writing. The second rune looked a bit like a footprint, shining dim red like an ember. The third, resembling a fire, flared blue. The fourth rune, a stylised letter 'T', went utterly black. The fifth and sixth runes both were yellow. Finally, when he finished drawing the last symbol, a rather elaborate one that resembled a scarab, he waited for it to light with green flame, igniting the whole rune scheme. Instead, it conjured a small cloud of smoke with a quiet 'poof'._

_"Seriously?"_

_"Practice the last piece, and then try again," the old man grumbled, rising to his feet with slight difficulty._

_"It's my tenth try. I wonder if the scheme itself is sound," Harry contemplated, leaning back from his workplace and consequently missing the fact that the scarab rune kept creating smoke._

_"It has been used for generations, boy. It's you who has the problem, don't go around piling blame on the graves of my ancestors," came the dry retort from the front of the shop. Harry was already opening his mouth to retort, but the piece of wood with the dysfunctional runes on it chose this precise moment to explode into a shower of rotten wood and stinky smoke._

_**PSHHBOOM**_

_"Oh, not again! What did you destroy this time?!"_

_"Just another bit of my pride," Harry shouted back and spat out the remaining splinters. "Some taste buds, as well... Yuck, disgusting,"_

* * *

**Chapter 15: Revelations**

* * *

Sirius was ready to kill someone.

You would also be murderous if you were hungry, tired and your arse felt like you dumped it into liquid nitrogen. That is, it didn't produce any feeling at all for a couple of minutes already.

The man had been surveying Hogwarts for a while already, looking for a way past all the security. He didn't like what he was seeing. Making Moody a professor was a very, very good move on Dumbledore's part as the man's sense for potential holes in Hogwarts' defences was uncanny. He managed to ward most of the hidden pathways into the castle to high heaven and even put some traps on the grounds. Moreover, Mad-Eye was deferred to by all Aurors on guard duty, making things even more difficult for Sirius.

He was conflicted when it came to Moody. Of course, he knew the retired Auror to be a good man, loyal to the bone. Many of the same occupation were – half of the office were Hufflepuffs. But that loyalty, he knew, was not to him, even if they were once friends, or, at least, friendly acquaintances. If it came down to a confrontation, Sirius didn't like his chances. Mad-Eye had always had a 'stun first, ask questions later' policy, and he didn't believe it changed while Sirius was enjoying the Azkaban spa resort.

And if or when questions would be asked, he would have nothing as proof of his innocence aside from his own word. No court would accept that, even with the use of Veritaserum.

Therefore, he had to sneak past Alastor Moody, the Unblinking Eye of Justice, and his merry crew of enforcers.

However, it did not deter him. Yes, he was tired of waiting. Yes, he was freezing in the Scottish winter. In fact, were it not for the little bunch of spells that the Marauders used during full moon nights in winter, he might not have made it until now at all.

He scowled and renewed the heavy-duty warming charm on his coat.

He would find a way. He was Padfoot, a Marauder. He knew the school better than the back of his hand (either human or canine versions). It wasn't a matter of "can", it was a matter of "when".

On a fine Christmas morning, Harry was woken up by some unknown fluffy and growling object colliding with his midsection. The boy jumped up, dislodging the offender, which dropped to the floor with a loud yowl. The young wizard sat up on his bed, shuddering slightly from the rude awakening.

"Crookshanks... one day, I will have my revenge, you flea-ridden sack of rat mischief," he rasped, shaking his head in wariness and bemusement. The ginger cat has taken to waking up either him or Ron when his owner asked him to. Harry sometimes wondered if encouraging Hermione's growing sense of humour was that good of an idea if the price of that was occasionally having low-flying cats sneak-torpedo him in the mornings.

_Nah, as long as I can look back on it and laugh a couple of minutes later, I'm good. Plus, grey hair would look rather cool..._

"HARRY! GET DOWN HERE! IT'S CHRISTMAS**!**" Ron's voice boomed out from the general direction of the stairs. The boy yawned and slowly stood up, stretching his back and producing a number of satisfying pops.

"Meow!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Oh, and next time, you're getting sprayed with icy water."

"Grrrmeowl!"

"See if I don't." raising his voice, he shouted down the stairs. "HEY, WHERE ARE ALL THE PRESENTS?"

"DOWN HERE! GET MOVING OR YOU WILL START AUTOMATICALLY DONATING YOUR SWEETS TO THE HUNGRY OF HOGWARTS!"

Chuckling, Harry walked down to the Common room. All Gryffindors who stayed in the castle, namely Ron, Hermione, the new Keeper on the Quidditch team, Luke Channeler, and a couple of sixth years whose names Harry didn't know.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!" the boy threw cheerfully, walking to the hearth where the whole company was sitting on pillows. A chorus of congratulations sounded in response.

"How's it going this time?"

"Dunno. We were waiting for you to show up, then 'Mione sent the Bloody Monstrosity," Ron grumbled. He still was sore for that time when he was woken up by Crookshanks and was startled so badly he tried to roll away only to collide with the lid of his trunk.

"Ah. Thanks. Well, now that I'm here, shall we?"

The sound of rustling paper filled the room. For a while, no one spoke aside of periodic delighted exclamations. Harry received a neat calligraphy set from Hermione, a huge bag of chocolate frogs from Ron, a couple of very high-quality dragon hide gloves for Potions and Herbology from Neville, a package of some kind of prank sweets from Fred and George (suspiciously lacking any kind of labels or instructions) and another Weasley jumper from Mrs. Weasley, this one bottle-green. The last package was unsigned. Harry frowned and touched his spectacles with his wand, renewing the spell-seeing charm that he had on almost constantly. The wrapping paper was clean from any magic, save for the residual house-elf magic that all the other presents had as well.

The boy sent an underpowered cutting hex at the gift and unwrapped it with another flick of his wand.

Four books.

And theywere almost screaming with signs of black magic.

"Well, damn," Harry jumped away from the innocent-looking pile. "Everyone, don't touch those. I'm going to Moody."

He quickly summoned his boots from the dorm room, donned them and walked out.

"Merry Christmas!" the Fat Lady smiled at him when he left the portrait, looking a bit tipsy. Harry nodded to her, turned away and turned on top speed.

Five minutes later, he was standing in the DADA classroom, knocking on the office door.

"Coming!" a gruff voice called out, and the characteristic 'knock, knock, knock' of the wooden leg could be heard coming closer.

"Who's there?"

"Harry Potter, professor."

Clanking ensued as many, many locks were released in succession.

"Wasn't a professor yesterday, stole my job, didn't you?" Moody joked when the heavy oaken door finally opened. He was quite obviously pointing his wand at the boy, but lowered it after a seemingly brief inspection. Harry knew it was anything but brief, as Moody's magical eye was undoubtedly pointed at him since before he raised his fist to knock.

"What got you up here in the Christmas morning? Did you receive something suspicious?"

"Right in one."

"Huh. Well, let's go and see what some bastard decided to send you. Tell me what you already know while we're walking."

Harry obliged.

"Well, I was unwrapping my presents. The last one wasn't signed. There was no magic on the wrapping aside from the signs that elves handled it, so I opened it with magic."

"Smart," Moody said approvingly, "But there's always a chance that opening it is a trigger for a curse or a sign for some creature to jump at you."

"Didn't think of that. Thank you for the tip. Well, the gift itself was a pile of books. They had some really unpleasant residue on them, so I decided to play it safe and call you."

"Good. Most books you open, others open you," the ex-Auror quipped. "If it's Black – and there's a certain possibility that's his doing – then those tomes are most probably from the Black Library."

"Sounds menacing."

"It is. Every pureblood in Britain knows of it. Everyone and their senile grandmother want it. It is the ultimate treasure trove of dark magic. But the Library has always been closed for everyone barring immediate family, even You-Know-Who haven't been granted access to it despite him trying. As far as I know, the most he got was a couple of books lent to him."

"Weren't they his supporters?"

"Aye, they were, but old Arcturus, the Head of Family, decided that he really didn't want to put all his eggs in one basket, and declared his house off-limits. He was a grouchy bastard, but sharp as goblin steel."

"Hm."

They finally reached the entrance to the Gryffindor tower.

"Perseverance," Harry told the portrait, which was looking at Moody, who cut a rather imposing figure despite the purple pyjamas. She hesitated to uncover the passage.

"Has something happened, dear?"

"Don't know yet. Hopefully not, but with my luck..." the boy shrugged. The Fat Lady nodded and swung open.

"Harry, what's the deal with those books?" Hermione asked. She was sitting near them and looking like she wanted to eat the ancient-looking tomes.

"I'm not sure."

"Move away, Granger," Moody growled, glaring at the books suspiciously. "Some books have a taste for female flesh, you know."

Hermione jumped away from the pile as if burned.

Ten minutes later, after a lengthy examination and a lot of spells cast, Mad-Eye was frowning just as severely.

"Well, those are from the Black Library, all right, but there just isn't anything harmful in them aside from their lengthy exposure to other, not so harmless books," he admitted. Harry squatted near them and read the titles aloud.

"'Now You See This, Now You don't; A Comprehensive Guide to Advanced Illusions'; 'Fooled Him Once, Fool Him Again – Charming the Minds and Senses'; 'Practical Applications of Runes'. They sure sound useful."

"Why would Black want you to study illusionary magic? And runes... that doesn't fit the picture," Moody muttered. The boy shrugged.

"That I do not know. I'll be sure to ask him when we meet."

"You do that. It might buy you some time."

Harry was in heaven. Truly, he was.

He was lying on a bench in one of the corridors between Charms and Transfiguration classrooms. His head was resting on Susan's lap, and she was stroking his head comfortingly. The boy was as relaxed as he could ever get, his eyes almost glazed over.

The interesting thing was the topic they discussed.

"Harry, have you seen the new Skeeter article?"

Grunt.

"Well, it wasn't that bad. She seems to be gaining momentum with each publication, though. It won't be long till she really cuts loose. It's her usual modus operandi."

Unintelligible mumble.

"Sorry, what was that?"

Harry forced himself to focus for five seconds needed to say what he wanted.

"Could you please run some damage control in your house?" he closed his eyes and again, he was lost to the world aside from those hands doing wonderful, wonderful things to his head.

"Sure. I've been doing that already. By the way, what was that with those presents that Hermione has been going on about during the breakfast?"

"Ah. Black sent me books."

"What?" the hands stopped. Harry opened his left eye and looked at his girlfriend with silent reproach. When she resumed her ministrations, he said:

"Well, I don't know why, but he decided to play nice and presented me with a handful of books from his library. Don't worry, I've asked Moody to check them and he hasn't found anything harmful."

"What were those?"

"Ah. Two advanced illusion tomes and a book on practical application of runes. I've skimmed through them all, they are pure gold. Dunno what bit the bastard, but he sends damn good presents."

"Hm. Maybe he wanted to ask forgiveness or something?" Susan suggested. Immediately she realised that it was the wrong thing to say, as Harry stiffened.

"If so, he can stick it," he growled. "He's one of the reasons my parents are dead, and it's not like I will just forget it because he picked some books for me!"

"Hush, Harry, calm down," the girl called, rubbing his head gently. He signed and nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks."

They continued talking for another half-an-hour before Harry had to run to the Charms lesson. When he entered the classroom, everyone stared at him in bemusement, but he didn't pay much attention to that, throwing his bag down near Ron. His friend looked at him with his jaw slowly edging in the vague direction of the floor.

"Um... Harry? What's up with the hair?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Ah, so you haven't seen. Look," the ginger transfigured the parchment with a graded essay into a mirror which was promptly pushed at Harry. He grabbed it, already suspecting what happened.

"Oh, Susan. Blast. Damn, I knew that girl liked it long, but that's a bit overdoing it, don't you think?"

"I think it suits you," Hermione observed, sitting down near the duo and facing their incredulous looks. She shrugged and added: "It adds character. You look more... you."

"Huh. Well, if you think so..." he quietened, carefully inspecting his new hairstyle. His hair, as before, nearly reached his shoulders in slight waves, but now there were braids woven here and there in a seemingly chaotic order. They gave it a rather wild look.

"You know, I think I'll leave it as it is," Harry mused. Ron snorted.

"Mate, you're nuts. You. Have. Braids."

"Nah, I'm secure enough in my masculinity to not worry about such things. Plus, they _do _add character..." Harry leaned closer to his male friend and whispered: "Lastly, if I keep 'em, it will score me some serious points with Susan."

Ron managed to suppress his grin.

**Two days later, evening, somewhere in between the Charms classroom and Gryffindor tower**

"Are you sure it's all right? It looks rather painful," Tonks asked, glancing at the huge black eye Harry sported. The boy waved her concern off.

"Nah, a bit of Bruise-Be-Gone and I'll be as good as new. I have some left in stock."

"Why would you need it?"

"The answer is staring at you."

"Psht. What was it that made you look like a panda?" Tonks asked with an obvious teasing lilt to her voice, earning a dirty look from Harry.

"A bludgeoning hex. It was a miracle I managed to lift a shield in time, even if it still mostly passed though," he grumbled, squashing an instinctual urge to touch the bruise.

"A bludgeoner from Flitwick? Ouch."

"You got it."

"Yes, yes I do."

Their friendly banter would continue, but for a certain interruption.

"Hey-lo there," a quiet, but cheerful voice called from behind. Both of them whirled around, their wands instantly up and pointed in the direction of a possible sneak attack.

A slightly gaunt figure came out of the darkness, grinning.

"Black," Harry growled, his hold on the wand tightening.

"I'm black. You're a pot. Where's the kettle?" the man replied instantly. The boy blinked.

"That was lame."

"No, it was just a classic that was already done to death," Black sighed. "Back in the day, Moony would usually transfigure a kettle hat. Ah, good old times."

"What are you doing here?" Tonks inquired, visibly tense and ready to fight.

"I just wanted to talk. Merlin knows there's a lot to talk about."

"Oh?"

"The first, and most relevant subject, is..." he didn't finish. A flash of red light illuminated him from behind, and he dropped like a puppet whose strings were cut. After two seconds, the shadow behind the prone figure twisted and transformed into Moody, his wand pointed at Black and his magical eye spinning wildly.

"Well, it looks like he hasn't lost his edge," the ex-Auror rasped, lifting the unconscious man with a flick of his wand. "He sneaked straight past all the additional traps I've installed."

"How did you know he was here?" Harry wondered, causing the scarred face of his professor to distort in a parody of a grin.

"Deduction, Potter, deduction. Deduction borne from a lot of experience... plus, I've been shadowing you for a couple of weeks already."

"What?!"

The old cripple made a brief cackle, then turned around and started walking, dragging his captive along on an invisible floating mattress of magic. Tonks and Harry shared a slightly disturbed look and followed.

They reached the Defence office in a couple of minutes. Harry, not having ever before entered the lair of the paranoid man, looked around curiously. There were all kinds of interesting trinkets in the room – a mirror filled with constantly moving mist, a whole assortment of spinning whirligigs of different shapes and sizes, a huge oak trunk with seven locks, a couple of spare wooden legs in the corner.

Oh, and **everything **was covered in thin layers of magic.

Overall, it was very, very Moody.

Harry was distracted from his reverie by the sounds of moving furniture. He saw that Moody placed Black on a chair and tied him to it with a couple of wand swishes.

"That ought to do it," he growled and jerked his hand. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

A silvery boar burst into existence, attracting a jealous look from Harry. In his continued attempts he could always produce an almost solid looking dome of light, but still couldn't quite summon a corporeal Patronus. He started to think it was really impossible for him to do so, and the thought of him finding a limit was incredibly vexing.

"Tell Amelia: I've got Black."

The bear nodded and vaporised.

It wasn't long until the doors were opened once again. In them stood a figure Harry recognised from the Quidditch Cup – the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Behind him, stood two Aurors and Dumbledore.

"Black is really caught! Oh, finally. The people were starting to worry," he was glancing at the knocked-out prisoner with wariness. "Moody, you've still got it. You have my thanks. Dawlish, go and get a Dementor."

"It will take some time, Minister. It won't be here until morning at least," the Auror identified as Dawlish warned before turning and leaving the room, presumably to visit Azkaban.

"Minister," Harry began. The short man whirled around at his voice.

"Oh, Harry. Why are you here?"

The boy was briefly surprised at the tone of the greeting, so different from the enthusiastic monologue of their first meeting, before remembering just who was it that he pissed off by his Bloodoak scheme. _Damn, it's becoming even more difficult that I thought._

"He was actually trying to talk to me when professor stunned me."

"Talk?"

"I do not know what exactly it was that he wanted. But I would certainly like to find out."

"Harry, I really don't think it is a good idea. Makker! Escort Mr. Potter to the Gryffindor tower!"

The boy tried to argue, but the minister wasn't listening, preferring to talk to – or rather, at – Dumbledore, who was looking as if he had infinite patience for the pudgy man.

Harry sighed and walked away. When he left the room, he had a small grin on his face.

_Who do they think they want to deter?_

**Two hours later**

Harry was walking briskly along the corridor. He was under the Invisibility cloak and covered with silencing, smell-banishing and light-foot charms with a fairly strong notice-me-not thrown on top. Overkill, but with Moody in the picture, Harry didn't think even this would be enough if the professor was still there.

So far, the sneak mission was coming along without a hitch – the only difficulty being persuading Ron, Hermione and Neville that it would be much easier if he went alone.

Finally, he reached the class. The door was open, which caused Harry to frown and a faint suspicion to appear in his mind. Carefully he looked inside. Yep, there was an Auror with his wand out. After taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, which was only partially successful in calming down the butterfly squadron in his stomach, he carefully walked past the man, taking great care not to stumble into/over anything. The silencing charm he was using was good, but he didn't particularly want to test its limits in this situation.

Then, Harry met his next obstacle.

The door to the office was closed.

The young infiltrator knew that it was damn near impossible for him to open it without setting off an alarm or two, so he took the next option. He leaned against the wall and waited, remembering the runic application tips that he'd read in the book Black sent him. It made the wait bearable.

He couldn't tell how much time has passed, but eventually, the door's many, many locks started to click and grumble. Harry tensed and bent his knees, preparing to swiftly move. He readied his wand as well. The door opened, revealing a young Auror – Dawlish or something. Harry didn't waste a moment, whispering:

"_Confundo_."

The man blinked in befuddlement and walked out the office, still holding on to the door. He looked around in search of a noise he thoughthe heard. Harry grinned and flashed past him.

_Boy, I'm good._

Harry mentally slapped himself. He was in **Moody's **office – now was really the worst time to get overconfident. The boy carefully walked forward, looking at where he stepped with care, wary of traps.

He made it to the main room and was very, very pleased to see that one – Black was still there and out of it, two – he was alone, three – there wasn't any sign of additional spells on or around him. Harry frowned and his brow twitched.

_Damn it. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound._

He moved closer to the bound figure and carefully dispelled the charms that kept him unnoticeable and unheard.

"_Ennervate._"

Black twitched and opened his eyes. After a couple of seconds, he seemingly got the gist of the situation and started swearing. Harry actually tried to memorise a couple of phrases.

"Enough, I think."

The man instantly shut up and jerked his head upwards.

"Harry? That you?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Let me guess – Moody stunned me from behind, didn't he?" his voice was resigned.

"Indeed. Now, what was it that you wished to talk about so badly that you have broken into a castle that Mad-Eye guards?"

Black was silent for a minute, and then sighed.

"My innocence."

"What?" whatever Harry expected, it wasn't that. "You want to tell me that it wasn't you who sold out my parents to Voldemort?"

"No!" the sheer vehemence of that statement made the boy step back. The man's eyes shone with sincerity. "I would die for James and Lily! I would have never betrayed them!"

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"It was Pettigrew. We switched Secret Keepers at the last moment, all because I thought that it would be super cunning to make everyone think that I was the guy while in reality it was the little, unnoticeable Wormtail," Black took a deep breath. "No one knew that he was a Death Eater. We all were aware that a spy was amongst us, and we had even suspected Remus. He was prone to vanishing at odd times. But it was Peter all along."

"Wait," Harry raised a hand, though it still was invisible. "What proof do you have?"

A huge, explosive sigh was his answer.

"That's the bummer, Harry. I don't have anything apart from my word. Our court would never accept a Veritaserum testament. Did you know I wasn't even deemed worthy of a trial? They just chucked me into Azkaban without any questioning! I found Wormtail four days after that night. I... I admit, I've been had quite thoroughly. That backstabbing, conniving bastard shouted out to the street that I was the traitor, blew up half of it somehow, cut his finger off, transformed into a rat and ran for it into the sewers!"

"Wait. Transformed into a rat?" something was starting to click in Harry's head.

"How do you think we got our nicknames? We all became animagi in school to help Moony out with his furry problem. Ever seen a rat with a missing toe on its front paw?"

"Scabbers..."

"Your friend's pet. That's why I broke out of Azkaban – Fudge gave me his Daily Prophet when he's been in Azkaban for a tour. The Weasleys were on the front page. I would know that rat out of a thousand."

"Hm."

_It makes sense, so far. But still, the proof..._

"Last year, I went after him, but when I confronted that redhead, he said that the rat died. I say that he just pulled his favourite trick to run."

"Yes, it would explain it... Hang on. What would he be doing right now?"

"He's on the continent, last I heard. I lost the trail after a while. Moony's away talking to his contacts right now."

"Oh damn. I remember... Wouldn't it make sense for him to go and join his master? I had a dream in the beginning of this year. About a rat transforming into a man. 'Master, I've found you'," he quoted with widened eyes. Sirius swore again.

"Damn. Remus told me that the Dark Bastard isn't dead, but... It will make things harder. I just assumed that he will lie low for at least a decade."

"Indeed."

They spent a minute in silence.

"Harry, do you believe me?"

"Your story makes a lot of sense. Certainly more sense than the version that I was told. Plus my gut quite clearly tells me to trust you. Very well, I'll bite. Now, the hard part."

"Bailing me out?"

"Yes. I think this will be nearly as difficult as your previous jailbreak."

"Maybe yes, maybe no."

At the sound of that raspy voice Harry nearly jumped. He turned his head towards the corner that previously didn't contain anything**. **Now, it was occupied by an old, grizzled Auror.

"Professor. How long...?"

"I never left. You're good at sneaking lad, but you lack experience. No disguise is absolute, but you can come pretty close to it if you block magic emanating from your body as well as sound, smell and heat," Moody growled. Harry nodded, taking a mental note to look up spells that could mask magic and heat, but shook his head, focusing on the matter.

"Professor, you heard him. Do you think he lies?"

"He either tells the truth or he believes it to be true. You don't know what Azkaban does to people. He could have twisted his memories to take off the edge of dementor exposure."

"I didn't think of that. Is there any way to be sure?"

"Yes, there is. Swear it, Black."

"I, Sirius Orion Black, solemnly swear upon my life and magic that I neither betrayed the Potters to Voldemort nor killed Peter Pettigrew. So mote it be," his palms shined slightly with blue light, signifying the binding oath. Moody vanished the ropes and tossed Sirius his wand.

"Very well. It goes against all my principles, but here's what we're going to do..."

Harry quietly crept past the stunned forms of two Aurors, taking care to breathe through the mouth.

"You know, it's criminal to smell like that."

"You try living in the forest and on rats without any facilities for a bath."

"I'll pass on that, thanks."

Moody went first, covered in all kinds of charms that made detection virtually impossible. Harry and Sirius followed under the cloak.

The plan was to get to the closest exit to the roof, which was an almost unused door not very far. Unfortunately, they had to climb a lot of stairs, so Moody decided to let them go.

"You two, move. I'll go and raise the alarm. Don't get caught, Potter. If you do, well, you're a smart lad. Think of something."

"Oh, I know just the thing. You'll love it, I think. Hopefully, though, I won't have to resort to lying my arse off."

"Fine. Black, watch yourself. I'll talk to Dumbledore, expect him to get in touch," with this, Mad-Eye turned around and stumbled away in the general direction of his office.

Five minutes later, the escaped prisoner and his godson were standing on top of the castle. Sirius had Moody's spare broom in hand. The air was chilly, but nothing that a couple of warming charms couldn't handle. Still, Sirius would be flying, so for him it still would be rather freezing for a while until he got to the edge of the wards and could Apparate.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Get a bath. Then prepare a good reason for me to storm the damn castle so that Moony doesn't kill me."

"Write, OK?"

"Of course, kid, of course," he got silent for a bit. "Hey..."

"What?"

"Maybe... if worst comes to worst, and you've got nowhere to live, you can crash at my house. The Black manor is not the most pleasant place, but it's something. Plus, I intend to civilise it a bit. I think Moony gets tired of me living off him and occupying his couch. He can get really grumpy near the full moon."

Harry chuckled a bit.

"Sure. Maybe I'll take you up on that this summer. I just remembered that the Dursleys would be very, very angry with me when I return. Might pull a Padfoot and bail."

Sirius barked a laugh and hugged his godson.

"You stink, remember?" Harry reminded him, but returned the hug just as fiercely. As much as he was touched by the gesture, the boy still heard many steps from the open door. The man heard them as well and separated from him, throwing a last salute while mounting the broom.

"Take care, kid."

And so, he left, just as four Aurors burst onto the platform.

Harry immediately forced down both his nervousness and his slightly maniacal grin at what he was about to pull and adopted an emotionless front.

"What the hell? Is that Potter?"

"What are you doing, boy?" came a half-growl. Harry 'shook' himself out of stupor and immediately immersed himself in rage.

Emotion control exercises that he learned in his efforts to learn Patronus came very handy right then.

"THAT BASTARD!" Harry proceeded to repeat the phrase that he just picked up from said bastard, making the quartet of law enforcements to lower their wands, seeing that he was seemingly a victim here.

"Potter! What happened?" a female Auror interrupted another burst of expletives.

"That inbred, flea-ridden, cunt-headed pureblood son of a similarly pureblood mongrel whore went and put me under a fucking Imperius!"

Pandemonium followed.

Soon, he was in the Ministry, being interrogated by an expressionless worker while Madam Bones was ominously watching him from the door. Fortunately, Harry's Imperius defence actually worked as well as he projected. Malfoy and his ilk had long since created a legislative cushion when it came to that particular alibi so that no one could question them again. It also – surprise, surprise – came with an explicit veto to use Veritaserum on a subject that pleaded mind control, as the Imperius screwed with the sense of what is true and what is a lie. Very handy for the young wizard in question. In the end, he got off with a slap on his wrist – a couple of detentions for breaking in Moody's office. He didn't think that Madam Bones really bought the crap he was shovelling, but he still was not punished.

When he was leaving the Ministry that day, he was in seventh heaven, and couldn't help but curve his lips in a very smug grin. Even the revelation that Madam Bones reallyhadn't bought his story, and asked Susan to interrogate him didn't sour his mood. He didn't say it outright, but he did hint at what really happened. His girlfriend wasn't happy about what he did, but finally accepted that in this case, the Law wasn't upheld by the Ministry itself.

Harry's good spirits lasted for exactly two days. Then another article of Skeeter's came out. She somehow knew a suspicious lot about what happened that night, especially considering that the Ministry didn't talk about it at all.

The article was named "Jail Breaker Potter" and was every bit as bad as the title suggested. Skeeter seemingly decided that it was time to break out the big guns and really did a number. She told the readers the story that Harry came up with, but still bent it to make it seem that it was all him that 'unleashed the finally caught menace to society upon innocents'. The fact that he 'was' under Imperius was only vaguely noted in the text. Overall, it was something that got Harry's approval rating somewhere in the lower twenties. Susan did some work with Hufflepuffs, and Neville, Ron and Hermione did a lot of talking to Gryffindors, but they weren't always successful. The situation started resembling the 'Parselmouth Dark Lord' phase of the second year.

And it was barely even the beginning of March.

Still, Harry didn't let the angry stares and fearful whispers get to him. Finally, he was free from the influence of the masses, deeming them not worthy of his notice.

How? Easy.

He had a new project.


	16. Runic Awesomeness

**Author's note**

This chapter is a bit dry because of the experimentation sequence. Hopefully, it's readable enough. Next chapter is summer, and it's going to make up for the lack of human interaction in this one.

Also, a certain reviewer keeps bugging me about Gabrielle. Well, OK, I'll throw you guys a bone.

_"Mademoiselle Delacour. I have been expecting you."_

_ If one was to suddenly whisper a greeting right next to your ear, you would be startled. If you haven't heard or seen anyone near you beforehand, you would be startled badly. If, after you jump and turn around with the intention of delivering a chastisement to whoever the poor joker was, you still see no one, the creepiness factor goes up by an order of magnitude._

_ Poor Gabrielle Delacour didn't know what to think. First, she found an unsigned letter on her table that told her that her work has caught an eye of a person that would like to discuss her research and possibly finance it. It invited her to come to a certain not well known Paris cafe at a certain time. She was naturally wary of an unnamed person wanting to meet her, and considering her heritage, rightly so, but she simply couldn't waste a chance like this. She didn't want to be living off her family's fortune. She wanted to make her way in life, to do something meaningful. And so, she followed the instructions._

_ And now, she was holding her heart and looking around in search for the one who frightened her so. Fortunately, it seemed like no one seen her jump, so her dignity didn't suffer as much as it could._

_ Finally, she noticed the man sitting by the window who was looking right at her with a slight grin on his face. She approached him._

_ "Please, si..." his sentence was cut off by a slap. "Maybe I deserved that."_

_ "Why, pray tell, did you do that?" she hissed._

_ "Two reasons. First, it was somewhat funny."_

_ Slap._

_ "I deserved that as well. Second and most important, you were very nervous, which, right now, you are not."_

* * *

**Chapter 16: Runic Awesomeness**

* * *

Harry was panting slightly while on his knees. His wand was – in the fourth time since the beginning of the hour – in the hands of Flitwick, who was looking at him not without approval and a bit of good humour.

"Harry, it has been many months and you still continue to surprise me. Normally, when a person is told that in their hands a simple household charm becomes a weapon, it is considered an insult, but lately you have been proving that it can be a compliment. First that quick washing spell that you used to nearly ruin one of my favourite shirts to get me off-guard..."

Harry had the decency to look sheepish.

"...and now the floor-cleaning charm, albeit slightly modified, if I'm correct?"

"Yes, the original didn't make the surfaces nearly as slippery. I think that it is more practical to use indoors instead of an icing spell, because it is faster and more efficient."

"I think you still gave it a little too much 'oomph'," the professor chided gently, poking at the closest levitating bubble. It popped with a cheerful sound.

"Yeah."

"Well, I think that you are too tired to continue. Do you have any questions before you leave me to death by essay suffocation?" he glanced at the mountain of parchment near his desk with desperation which was only partially played up. Harry perked up.

"Yes, I do. Can you tell me how the Trace works?"  
That stilled Flitwick. He lowered his gaze and started twirling his wand nervously.

"Well, that is a... sensitive question, Harry. This is a piece of magic that adults are not supposed to tell the underage about."

"I wouldn't misuse the knowledge, professor."

"Hah! My boy, don't play words with a Ravenclaw. Granted, you are one of the most Ravenclaw-like lions I taught, but still."

"I really, really need it. It is literally a question of life and various injuries," seeing the hesitation in the half-goblin's stance, Harry decided to sweeten the pot. "How about I help you with the essays in return?"  
"Harry, you are a lion at heart, but still possess a head of an eagle, and now I find out you have a snake there somewhere," Flitwick grumbled, but relented. "Fine, fine, grade at least the first two years and I'll tell you. Stop grinning, you really don't know what you've gotten yourself into."

**Six hours later**

Harry jerked his aching hand in a motion the likeliness you would expect from someone suffering an epileptic stroke, leaving a symbol vaguely resembling the letter 'E' on the parchment. He put it in the pile of essays closest to him and reached for a new one without looking. His hand shuffled around the table, not finding anything. He glanced, and after a second of confirming the fact that he had, in fact, finished his part of the deal. The boy closed his eyes and dropped his head on the table with a loud thunk.

"Hurrah..." he moaned in a weak tone.

"Good, you've lasted all the way through."

"That's what she said," Harry said in a snarky tone, still not looking at the professor. He heard the continuous scribbling stop.

"I did not ask to be privy to all details of your relationship with Miss Bones. Maybe it would be prudent for me to redirect your commentaries to her aunt..." he was cut off by an 'are you kidding me' stare from Harry. For a while they sat there in companionable silence. Finally, Flitwick put the graded essays in a big pile and levitated it to the corner of his room.

"Well, now that we've gotten care of the boring stuff, let us get to the boggart that is the Trace."

The boy immediately sat straighter, banishing the urges to give in to sleep, and focused all his attention on the frowning professor.

"Well, to begin with, the Trace is a system that has been developed nearly a century ago to watch out for situations that would require the intervention of the Obliviators. Well, as it was then, it didn't work. It was literally detection of magic, and was full of glitches. Thus, it was abandoned in favour of just watching the muggles for their reactions on the leaks from behind the Statute of Secrecy, so to speak. Imperfect, but we still haven't found a better solution. In the meantime, the problem that the Muggleborn and pureblood children that lived near muggles presented to the Statute became more and more apparent. Eventually, someone picked up the broken piece of magic, tweaked it a bit and made a simple fix. What we actually do is just affix all the sold wands with a little spell that monitors them. If certain conditions are met, the spell sends a warning to the Ministry and they decide what to do."

"Conditions?" Harry pried.

"Yes, like not being on magical property and being underage."

"I used magic during the Quidditch World Cup without being warned for underage magic," the boy said, remembering.

"Ah, the presence of certain wards just jams it. It's hard to hear a single voice in an enormous choir. Also, I'm pretty sure that the Ministry designated the area as magical property for the duration of the Cup for convenience's sake."

"Ah. So, basically, no wand magic during the summer holidays for me..." Harry noted quietly. He was rightly cautious of what the Dursleys might do to him when he returned and didn't want to face it without the odds being in his favour.

After a couple of seconds of deliberation, he grinned, remembering the books Sirius gifted him with.

"Harry, I really don't like the look on your face."

"Professor, I just realised that we can do magic with things other than wands."

**Next morning, Ancient Runes classroom**

"...and I'll grade your runic atlases in the next few months. Now, scram!"

Instead of running out with everybody else, Harry waited, waving his friends off with a reassurance that he will just ask something that he had on his mind lately and catch up with them. He sighed internally. _Yeah, right. Babbling's a genius, but Merlin can she go completely off topic for a while._

"Green Eyes? What are you fidgeting over there for?"

Babbling didn't bother with learning people's names, giving everyonenicknames. Harry once almost walked into a wall when he heard her address McGonagall as 'Tabby'.

"Well, I wanted to ask, theoretically, if an imaginary student wanted to create an enchanted glove that he could cast spells with, how should he go about it? This is purely academic, of course," Harry was barely able to say that with a straight face.

The professor's face was also suspiciously blank while she began sorting the atlases on her table.

"Well, I would say that the idea is as old as dirt. Also, I would say that this theoretical glove is too difficult to enchant like that for anyone who is not a master artificer and knows some wandlore. However, I suppose that any object could be engraved with runes that would, again, theoretically, allow its owner to cast a pre-determined handful of spells. I would, of course, advise the imaginary student not to do something like that until his or her NEWT year unless he wants to really become imaginary, but we are talking strictly academically, right?"

At his nod, she continued, sitting down and looking at the ceiling intently and critically, as if looking for a mosquito that annoyed her all night with its buzzing.

"Next, if a certain non-existent student still wanted to do something like that, I would recommend 'Enchanting for Beginners' and 'Runic Clockwork.' 'Practical Applications of Runes' would be better, but it's very rare and it's not in the library..."

"Let's theorise that the purely thought-up student has the latter book in his possession. What would you advise him to do first?"

Babbling threw a spell at the ceiling that made some dust to fall from it. After making a satisfied nod, she directed her thoughtful gaze upon the completely deadpan boy.

"Well, he should trust his instincts, always make sure that the prototype has been tested before putting it on, think everything through, and most importantly, make notes. It will save our mirage a lot of nerves."

"Thank you."

"Whatever for? Now go. Theyare watching," she made shooing motions, shooting suspicious glances from the corners of her eyes. Harry bowed slightly and promptly exited the room, only allowing himself to chuckle after he was a certain distance from the door.

_Sometimes it's nice talking to Cloudcuckoolanders. Near them, I feel absolutely sane by comparison._

The idea of writing things down as he conducted experiments somewhat appealed to Harry, if only because of the possibility that he will one day read those early notes and laugh himself silly at the descriptions of his mistakes.

_**Journal entry #3, 7 March**_

___I think I got the basic idea hashed out. The glove will need to cast at least two spells – Aegis and Depulso, so I will have to look into the Arithmancy descriptions of those and how I can translate them into runes._

_ The spells will need energy, which they will take either from me or from ambient magic. Will look into the practicality of both solutions._

_ The third issue: activation. Yelling out the incantations seems infeasible, but how do I actually use them then? At a loss._

_ Ah, well, I will make it up as I go. I barely started._

_ Oh damn, I'm a moron. Where do I get the glove itself? Actually, I will need more than one, if I take the possibility of different miscasts, mistakes, explosions and other chaotic random events into account._

He asked for a pack of standard rubber gloves from a certain half-anonymous Gryffindor seventh year who was earning himself some money for his first few months after leaving school by being a person to go to for any muggle knick-knack. The guy was a bit reluctant, as he didn't smuggle clothing as a general rule, but Harry soon persuaded him that the goods in question are in fact just expendables for his research.

The 'rubber dealer' managed to deliver after a weekend, and Harry had his supply. By that time, he had already started devising the rune scheme.

_**Journal entry #5, 14 March**_

___Well, I got the material. Those rubber gloves are cheap and numerous – exactly what I need._

_ The energy issue is solved. The chapter on ward stones in 'Enchanting for Dummies' explicitly said that powering standard spell imitations with ambient magic takes too much time to be practical if I'm not standing right over a ley line. Didn't understand the reference, looked into ley lines. Seems that they are something like magical streams that flow underground, drastically heightening arcane ambience, something like Earth's circulatory system. Hogwarts stands right on the intersection of two of those, which explains the power of castle's wards._

_ In any case, it seems that I'm stuck with me powering up the runes. I have gotten the needed energy taking rune matrix from the same book. Hah! First success!_

_**Journal entry #6, 16 March**_

___I'm an idiot._

_ I spent an evening poring over Arithmancy tables and writing down two incredibly complex for such low-tier spells formulae, getting a headache for my trouble, and when I tried to translate it all into runes I realised the fact that there were already written __**simple **__matrices that did __**exactly the same**__!_

_ I'll go drown myself in a shower. Dunno if I succeed, but it should get rid of the damn migraine._

_**Journal entry #9, 21 March**_

___OK, I think I have gotten the trigger runes down. I'll just have to bend a finger and touch the tip to the palm. This scheme suggests that eventually I can have as many as 5 spells on the palm of my hand._

_ That was an awful pun, but I'm kinda tired._

_ I had a thought that I could get even more out of the glove, but it's still a far prospective. Baby steps, Harry._

_**Journal entry #11, 22 March**_

___I got the whole scheme completed. Another obstacle, fortunately, easily overcome. I couldn't figure out how to etch runes in rubber, but after some thought and a consultation with the book Sirius gifted me, I have started creating a special paint. Or ink._

_ There are, I found, a lot of recipes for rune ink. The cheapest recipe is to mix blood and regular ink, and do a couple of spells. Voilà. As the other variants are costly, and I've been feeling greedy lately, I chose the cheap and easy way. Now I'm feeling dizzy, despite the blood replenishing potion I've cooked up from the stuff gathered in Neville's and mine little garden and a couple of things nicked from Snape a while ago. Despite that, the operation is a go._

_ Still, it's difficult to write the runes on rubber, but I recall there was a charm for that. Later, though, I'm too impatient to see if it'll work._

_ First test, I will transfigure and animate a wooden arm. I will then put the glove on, and order it to activate the banisher._

_ I think I saw a bit of smoke, but other than that – nothing._

_ Maybe, I need more power? I'm going to animate it again, severely overpowering the charm._

_ ..._

_ Hell's bells. The glove sizzled and just tore itself apart. Will look into it. Theory: it has something to do with runic compatibility._

Harry was walking to the Gryffindor tower while scribbling something in a small notebook, occasionally muttering under his breath. Only the fact that he knew the path better than the back of his hand saved him from colliding with a wall or falling victim to trick steps in the moving stairs.

However, it didn't prevent him from walking into someone.

"Oof. Damn it, watch where you're going, Potter!"

"Sorry... if this one goes here, then I need to change the upper string, but this would be just pointless..."

Harry continued on his path, not noticing the bewildered faces of a certain Slytherin trio.

"Uhm, what was that about?" Goyle asked, looking at Harry's back.

"Beats me."

_**Journal entry #12, 26 March**_

___Well, it was really three incompatibilities. I had to do a rather large amount of work so that the damn scheme would work properly. I have asked Hermione about standard protocols for this kind of thing, she told me it was basically 'repeat the experiment in various conditions until you understand where you went wrong'. The trick, she said, was choosing the right conditions or something like that._

_ Test three. Basically the same thing that I did in the previous two – animate an arm and make it bend its fingers while increasing the power behind the animation from one go to another._

_ …_

_ Okay, it's still intact, but the result doesn't resemble any single charm I've heard of. First, it just made it smell like daisies. I was a bit worried that it would blow up, but still upped the strength. Well, it levitated two desks to the ceiling and made everything in the room blue, including my face. I think it's sassing me._

_**Journal entry #13, 27 March**_

___Eureka. Didn't sleep all night, came up with a possible reason of the... incident. Power runes were designed to take power from a wizard or a witch, not drain energy of another spell. Methinks it is exactly this that caused such a glitch. Will design the next scheme appropriately._

_ For now, though, sleep sounds like a decent enough idea. Good thing that it's only History until the evening. I'll wade through Charms somehow. Flitwick will understand._

_**Journal entry #18, 8 April**_

___Finally! This spell-draining cluster was such a pain in the ass, as entries 13 through 17 can witness. At last, I have gotten it right._

_ Test 4: Just the same as test 3, only with a much greater wish for it to work._

_ …_

_ Well, it worked... somewhat. I seem to be having trouble with aim. That is to say, it is non-existent. Just a huge wave of pressure in all directions instead of a Depulso-ish directed strike. What's worse, now I have a black eye from an Amazing Flying Ink Pot. Well, I suppose it's a decent reminder to have a shield up while testing. Better than a dismemberment, at least._

_ I'll go ask Pomfrey for a Bruise-Be-Gone, as my reserve runneth dry._

_**Journal entry #21, 15 April**_

___Hermione's on my case because I still haven't started preparing for the exams and am instead 'wasting my time on yet another stupid project of a kind that can only be spawned by idle hands'. Honestly, the more she mellows out, the more she stays the same. She's got that frazzled hair thing going again like she always had before exams. It's so cute I can't even be angry at her for insulting my work._

_ To business, though._

_ I have made a directing sequence. Let me tell you that has been a pain to fit on the index finger._

_ Test 5. Now, just work. Please._

_ …_

_ Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of firewhisky! I fucking did it! Woohoo!_

_ Ahem._

_ Now, all that remains is finish fixing up the Aegis. I haven't done much work on it at all, but the runes for a standard flash-type shield are rather simple. Not as simple as pressure throwing ones, mind you, but those are made more complex by the compensation matrix that makes sure that the user isn't thrown back with equal force..._

_**Journal entry #24, 30 April**_

___Simple, my arse! Damn, the containment matrix alone has reduced the amount of hair on my head by 15% at least, what with me tugging on them in frustration! The generation bit wasn't that bad, though. Hermione was rather enthusiastic to help with that one, but she's got all curious and deduced my objective. I have managed to persuade her that a) I'm utilising all needed precautions, so I won't blow myself up, b) I have gotten the permission from Babbling and c) no, I will pass all exams barring Potions with flying colours, and I'm willing to bet pretty much anything on it. She still was very disapproving and tried to get me to study. Hah! I have something more important than endlessly repeating things I already know. Like pulling another scam with Tearshape. This time, it's precious metals, and as I'm fairly ignorant of the subject, my goblin friend does all the work while I'm throwing galleons at him. I'm thinking of expanding into the Muggle world, but for that I need more data and a lot of time to think._

_ Ahem._

_ So, I've made the first – and hopefully last, but who am I kidding? - draft of the shield piece._

_ Test 2.1: Same as previous, but I will order the animated arm to touch its palm with its middle finger. Should create an Aegis-like shield._

_ …_

_ Jello. Why is there jello stuck on my Protego?_

___Damn, I have drawn a rune wrong. Still, it wasn't the fault of the scheme itself, so I will take heart in that._

_ Test 2.2: I will take great care to do it right this time._

_ …_

_ Partial success. The Aegis was created, but didn't hold for the needed three seconds and faded away. The arm was drained of magic. Strange, I will look at the power component of the generating matrix again. Also, need to look at the spell itself._

_**Journal entry #26, 3 May**_

___Found the leak. I have somewhat screwed up the energy direction bit. Too inefficient. Gah, it's like a freaking Sudoku puzzle. I guess that after this, Sudoku will seem like child's play._

_**Journal entry #28, 9 May**_

___Finished. The new matrix should work fine._

_ Test 2.3._

_ …_

_ It worked! Now, I need only to do a final check by hitting it with a spell. I'll begin with a stunner and work my way up to a heavy drill-piercer. When I cast Aegis, I am able to shield all of them, though the latter bursts it._

_ Test 2.4._

_ …_

_ The standard piercer made it creak slightly, and a heavy bludgeoner bust it. Still, as it is just a step lower than the drill-piercer, I think that it will do._

_ Next part will be a bit tricky, as I will have to adapt the resulting schemes so that they will not have any weird/dangerous reaction to being painted on leather. Plus... Damn, I forgot about testing it all with the comfort rune scheme!_

_**Journal entry #29, 14 May**_

___Last adjustments are over. The only thing left is make sure that the power-draining part that utilises my magic is compatible with what I've drawn. In the meantime, I think I will have Babbling look at it. I could, theoretically, have my arm blown off if it goes wrong, and it would be just embarrassing, not to mention very uncomfortable._

_ …_

_ Babbling took the drawing, muttered something about wards and talking shoes and walked off. I'm not sure if I should be encouraged that a pro will check it over, or resigned to the fact that said pro is bonkers._

_ Probably both._

_**Journal entry #30, 17 May**_

___She returned the drawing to me with a couple of pointers. I think I will implement them this evening and finish it tomorrow. My patience is running thin._

_**Journal entry #31, 18 May**_

___It's done. I am a proud owner of a single leather glove for my left hand that can shoot directed pressure waves and create translucent barriers on demand which is capable of stopping anything short of a shield-busting curse or an RPG round._

_ I think I'm happy. Need to test that..._

Harry was walking through the Restricted Section, looking for a particular book he'd seen there a couple of years ago. That was a book on Mind Arts, and as he had slowly but steadily improved in control over his emotions over the last year despite the hormonal storm through his body, he thought that he was quite ready for the next step in learning Occlumency. What's more, he was going to look up Legilimency, as that sounded simply too useful to pass up.

Five minutes later, he found the needed tome.

_When the budding Occlumens reaches the stage that he controls his emotions without a conscious effort, he is ready to continue on the path of learning._

_ But first, you must make a choice._

_ Occlumency is often underestimated by wizards that do not study it in depth, even if they are very adept in it. It is an art of mastering your own mind, with all perks that you can imagine available to you. It is not just the shield to Legilimency's sword, no, far from it – it can be used for so much the author does not believe he will ever reach the bottom of the deep well that is this art's potential. Every simpleton can create barriers around his or her mind, but not everyone reaches the conclusion that it can be used for anything else!_

_ With proper care and sufficient dedication, you can – for a lack of another word – upgrade your mind. You will be able to think faster, reaching complex conclusions with lightning speed, notice things that usually would evade your eye, your memory will be sharper than goblin steel, and so much more!_

_ Remember, reader, it is not powerful wizards who prosper – it is the smart ones._

Harry wiped the thin stream of drool from the corner of his mouth and continued reading.

_I will not write down how to reach all those things in this book – after all, it is the beginner's guide. The question still stands, however – do you wish to simply be protected from mental intrusion and don't have time for anything else, or you are able to reach for something more?_

_ If it's the first, then go to the next page. If it's the second, proceed to the chapter 6._

Harry immediately started flipping the pages.

_So, you wish to embark on a path to being a savvy Occlumens? Good for you._

_ The first step is to train your ability to focus..._

**Same time, in the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic**

Three headmasters, two officials and a phoenix entered a room.

It sure sounded like a beginning of a joke, but Madam Olympe Maxime was in no mood for sharing – never mind starring in – any kind of anecdote. The Triwizard Tournament that was meant to take place next year was being a giant pain to organise.

The half-giant woman glanced at her companions while they were sitting down for yet another round of negotiations. It was a dance all of them knew by now.

Karkaroff would start by spewing a number of demands in hopes of pushing through at least one of them. Dumbledore would skilfully counter, considering some only to deflect the others. Olympe would sit on the side-lines, silently watching for a chance to enter the argument in favour of some point that would benefit her school.

Today, however, proved to be different.

"I believe that we need to discuss the precautions one more time," Dumbledore said seemingly out of the blue, making Igor shut his already opened mouth rather comically. The head of Durmstrang coughed slightly to mask his surprise and answered disparagingly:

"Oh, please, Albus. You have been going at it for half a year. We changed the tasks, made them as safe as possible, we agreed to your age rule – what more do you want of us?"

Olympe nodded slightly.

"We have wasted a year. Now Krum will not be able to compete! I still believe you pulled it all to thin the competition," the man grumbled, causing Maxime to stifle a groan. Krum was a sore point for him and usually got mentioned once a week. As usual, the headmistress remembered young Miss Delacour. As a fellow half-human, she watched out for her student. When the Tournament was delayed, therefore denying her a chance to prove that she wasn't just 'that half-veela chick', Fleur was crushed.

"The first task is still unsafe. If you ask me, it's even more dangerous than what we originally planned."

"Dumbledore, the traditional point of the first task is to face a dangerous magical creature. Sure, I wouldn't pit the champions against a basilisk, but I think even dragons would be quite a decent opposition. Our current choice is even less dangerous while still remaining a challenge."

"Indeed, Igor, but I would like to put in some more safeguards..."

Maxime closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. This was just another rendition of an old argument that she didn't want waste her breath in.

The exams were over.

Harry looked over his marks with a frown. True, he did great, especially considering that he started revising barely a month before, but he wasn't just good enough – he had E's for Arithmancy, Astronomy and History. Out of the three only Arithmancy held any value to him, but Vector barely ever gave an O to anyone. An A for Potions, naturally, didn't even faze him.

"Harry?"

The young wizard sighed and offered the list to Hermione without turning to her, preferring to look at the surface of the lake. He heard the sound of rustling paper.

"Well, I'm not surprised," she said somewhat smugly. Harry shrugged, still looking away.

"I couldn't care less about Astronomy and History, and you know how Vector is..."

"Yes, but still..."

"I'm content with what I got. And besides, I am still of the opinion that the grades aren't that important in most cases."

Hermione sighed and sat down near him. They had this argument for dozens of times already and she didn't want to waste her breath going through it again.

"Was it worth it, Harry? You still haven't shown me the thing."

"That's because until this morning I still haven't figured out the last tricky rune in the comfort sequence. Well, I had it all written down, I just didn't have the time to actually implement it," the boy rummaged in his bag for a bit and got a black leather glove out of it. He put it on his left hand, and the surface started shimmering slightly with runes. He flexed his arm and offered it to the girl for inspection.

Hermione immediately grabbed it and started looking over the final product of her friend enthusiastically.

"So, would you finally explain the mechanics? I can only see vague outlines, and they are inverted, which makes it even harder to read."

"Well, this bit takes energy from me. Here's the trigger, here is the Depulso bit and this is the shield. Those are what I've been working on this morning, they allow me to wear it constantly, it's just that comfortable. It has just the right temperature, it breathes like silk and I can even feel things through it as if I'm touching them with my skin. I know, I'm awesome..."

"Despite my usual reaction to your boasting, in this instance, I will have to grudgingly agree. How does the trigger work?"

"Look," the boy glanced around and pointed his hand forward at the water, bending his index finger so it touched the palm. A translucent wave immediately pulsed out of his fist and crashed into the lake, creating a big splash. Hermione smiled a bit at the display. Her grin slowly turned to mischievous and she carefully brandished her wand, stepping back.

"En garde, Harry! _Rictusempra!_"

The red spell was barely intercepted by a yellow wall that sprung between them.

"What the hell?"

"Sorry," she shrugged, not sounding very much like it. "I'm trying out acting on impulse. I seem to remember you suggesting something of that sort."

"I certainly didn't mean you attacking me out of the blue to test my new favourite toy," Harry grumbled with a half grin, lying down on the grass. He closed his eyes.

Life was good.

**Somewhere on the other side of the channel**

The young man with dirty blond hair was stumbling through the forest at an unsteady pace. He was obviously in a hurry, if the speed and determination he showed was anything to judge off. He stumbled over a hidden root, swearing quietly, and continued his trek, as the man knew that his destination was very, very close.

Suddenly, the tree branches made way for the light. Barty came to a stop, wincing and covering his eyes with his hand from the glare of the sun.

Before him was a small hut, obviously put together recently, hastily and with a thought that the inhabitants wouldn't stay here for long. The young man smiled – or tried to, at least, as it looked more like he had a pinched nerve – and proceeded to the door.

As he approached, it suddenly opened. Completely unfazed, Barty walked in. The door swung shut.

"Barty Crouch..."

He knew that voice. Not even Azkaban could take the memory of his master away. The man fell to his knees and bowed his head, shaking from emotion.

"My Lord... I have found you!"

"So you did... I have heard that you searched for me, together with the Lestranges, when others left me the moment it seemed like I fell."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I also heard that you died in Azkaban," the same voice noted. "Tell me, where have you been all those years after your supposed death?"

"My mother persuaded my father to switch us. She took my place in prison when they visited. My father kept me all this time at his house, under Anima Shatter and Imperius. Only recently was I finally able to break the hold of the curse. I took all I had a need for, burned the house and left to search for you."

Silence followed his tale.

"An intriguing story. Anima Shatter, you say? I find it somewhat hard to believe that your father, of all people, would use a blatantly Dark potion, not to mention use an Unforgivable... But I will see if it is the truth. _Legilimens!_"

Barty crumpled on the floor, convulsing from the intrusion into his mind. Very soon, however, he stilled, as the pain vanished. His master found the memories that proved his words. He viewed them for some time, and then left the young man's head.

"Rise, Bartemius," Voldemort's tone was much warmer this time, if this adjective could be used in one sentence with his name at all. "I now see that your loyalty is still unquestionable and you cannot be blamed."

"Master," Barty rasped, standing up and looking at the figure in the chair before him. "How can I serve?"

"Sit. We have much to discuss. First of all, tell me everything you believe to be relevant that you heard your father talk about."


	17. Strategical Withdraw

**Author's note**

Happy New Year, everyone! This chapter was ready a while ago, but I kept fiddling with a certain scene.

The next chapter is proving to be very hard to write, but I should finish it by the next month despite the exams.

Have a nice reading, and see you in February!

* * *

**Chapter 17: Strategic withdrawal**

* * *

Harry was of two minds about returning to the Dursleys'. On one hand, his relatives were sure to be even more intolerable this summer due to him accidentally summoning the Knight Bus right on Aunt Petunia's lawn. This will surely provoke them to actively try to hurt him. On the other hand, he had his glove, which will allow him to retaliate to some degree. On this thought Harry actually grinned. _Just look at the silver lining, eh?_ He glanced at the said fragment of clothing critically. _Note to self: investigate the possibility of sewing runes into clothes, also, look into the magical capacity of silver._

He exited the barrier between the Platform 9¾ while still wearing a small smile. He looked around in search for the members of the Dursley family, and found them standing near the other platform. He tsked and, after picking up his trunk, walked to them determinedly. As he came closer, on a whim he started smiling pleasantly.

The smile visibly unnerved the scowling family.

"Hi!" he said brightly. Dudley was apathetic and visibly bored. Aunt Petunia looked at him suspiciously. Vernon assumed the "You are annoying me" stance and jerked his head in the vague direction of the parking with an irritated grunt.

"After you," he answered with a slight bow and an exaggerated flourish, deciding to go with the flow of random madness.

The ride to Privet Drive was no more and no less awkward than it was last year. Harry was put off-guard with this, but from the cruel spark in Dudley's eyes, he expected the Dursleys to blow up any second.

His expectations were proven correct only after they were already there and he entered the house. He turned to close the door behind him when his peripheral vision caught something moving at his head from the side. Only reflexes honed by a long practice of avoiding Bludgers allowed him to duck in time. They didn't prevent him from catching a follow-up kick right at his face. The pain blinded him for a moment. He was thrown at the door, which creaked pitifully, not designed to handle this kind of abuse to itself.

Harry caught himself, shaking his swimming head, and lifted his left hand with the glove threateningly to ward off any kind of follow-up on the beat-down. It wasn't needed, though, as Vernon was still standing there, swelling with rage and seemingly gathering anger.

"What was that for?" he checked the mouth and nose. The latter was leaking blood.

"The stunt you pulled last year. We were the laughing stock of the neighbourhood for a month!" the obese man spat and took a step forward. Harry's eyes narrowed as he focused on the glove. A quick gesture.

BZING

The fist met the amber translucent octagon with a metallic sound. Vernon made a strangled sound and clutched his hand, glaring at the teen with hatred and fear. Aunt Petunia hissed in a loathing tone:

"Get out, you little freak."

Harry snorted and sent Vernon into the corridor wall with a hand wave.

"With pleasure, auntie. My summer prospects clearly just saw a radical improvement!" with that, he turned sharply and exited the house – not two minutes after entering it in the first place.

Fifteen seconds later, the Dursleys' lawn was defaced once again as the Knight Bus materialised on it to pick Harry up. The teen glanced at the destruction from the window before the bus departed.

_I won't be able to return, whatever Dumbledore has to say about it._

**That** **Evening**

Harry frowned at the letter in his hand.

"'_Take the Knight Bus to the Little Birdiegurn, walk right into the forest, follow the path until the crossroads, take the left, then the right near the river. Inevitably, you will stumble across a shack that looks like it would collapse at any given moment with a scarecrow wearing a wig right in front of it'_," he looked up on the ramshackle building before him and searched for the scarecrow. For some reason, he found it standing on the roof. "O-kay... that's weird. I suppose I'm here. _'Knock thrice, then once, then four times._' Fine, whatever..."

He walked to the door resolutely and knocked in the requested pattern. Almost immediately a crash was heard from inside and hasty steps sounded.

The door opened and the adolescent was drawn into a hug.

"Harry!" Sirius shouted in glee, releasing his godson and looking over him. "Frankly, I thought you wouldn't come."

"You invited me," the teen noted and walked inside, dragging his trunk behind him. "As good as spending the summer in the Diagon Alley sounds, it's not as cool as crashing on my godfather's couch."

"Ah, well, technically, you'll be crashing on your sorta-uncle's couch," Sirius said, gesturing at the kitchen door, from behind which sounds of water and clunking of dishes could be heard. "It's Moony's place."

"Ah... okay, I don't have a problem with that, assuming Lupin... Moony, is actually agreeable to my presence here."

"Oh, he's certainly agreeable, or will be when he learns you're here."

"Sirius, are you saying I virtually broke into someone's house?"

"Nope," the Marauder said with a wink. "More accurately, I broke you into Moony's house. Big difference."

"But... oh, well, can't do anything about that now. Hey, Professor!" Harry walked into the kitchen, waving jubilantly at the severely startled man.

"Harry? What the... what are you doing here?"

"Ah, you see, I had a little spat with my dear relatives, and as a result I found myself in need for a place to crash in. I wrote a letter to Sirius to see if he would have any ideas, and he suggested coming here. He forgot to mention it's your house, so..."

Remus groaned at that and leaned on the table.

"Padfoot, I see that your casual disregard for your friends' private property boundaries is as lacking as ever."

The man in question shrugged unabashedly.

"Well, seeing as his place is currently uninhabitable, I suppose that you could stay here. Did you tell anyone that you're here?"

"Nope."

"We'll need to tell Dumbledore, just in case..."

"Why? It's my business where I spend my holidays," Harry interjected reasonably.

After a lengthy argument Remus acceded to Harry's request for his location to be hidden, or "not be told to others", as the older man insisted to call it.

"Now that it is settled, what shall we do?"

Sirius barked a laugh.

"Not much to do around here, kid, so I say we go and celebrate our reunion. There's this bar in London I have put my eye on..."

"Padfoot, he's fourteen. It's not an acceptable age to go to such places. He won't be allowed in, for starters."

Remus' claims were quickly dismissed.

"Mr. Padfoot feels the need to inquire as to whether Mr. Moony's memory has grown weak in his old age as he seems to have forgotten the infamous night of the 30th of October, 1972."

Cue sputtering.

"Do I want to ask?"

"No."

"No!"

"As I thought. Anyway, I got drunk a couple of times already, I think I've got a handle as to where my limits lie. Don't worry about that, Professor."

"Call me Remus or Moony, Harry. I'm not your professor anymore."

"Only if you insist. Know this, though: in my heart, you're going to stay a Professor forever." Harry didn't even bother to hide the teasing glint in his eyes.

"He's got a point," Sirius drawled, slinging a hand over the teen's shoulders and peering at Remus. "You look like a Professor, you know. Hey, maybe we can get you laid with that! We'll play on that student-and-teacher kink that all young girls seem to have..."

"I don't have to put up with this sort of abuse," the werewolf huffed, turning slightly pink.

"You love it and don't bother denying this. Anyway, can you disguise the kid so that he'll look 18?"

"Kid? Really?"

"You're doing the face, you were always best with that," Lupin grumbled, brandishing his wand and doing a few gestures, muttering under his nose all the while. Sirius shrugged and also got his wand out.

"Fine by me. Let's see, _Hara Iskaze. _No, not quite what we need. _Hara Iskaze. _A bit thinner... _Hara Iskaze. _Perfect, we can work with that."

Harry looked around in search of a mirror. Seeing this, Remus just conjured one, and the teen scrutinised his new appearance. He looked... like an adult. A shade of stubble, no baby fat...

"Okay, now, Moony, get your ass in that fancy suit of yours – the respectable one. I'll go get my own 'Le Rogue'," Sirius winked and turned to leave the kitchen. Remus looked at his back and spoke up.

"For the record – I think this is a very, very bad idea!"

"Spirit of the hunt, Moony!" the man answered cheerfully, causing the werewolf to groan, and vanished from view.

"What?" Harry blinked.

"I'll explain later. Do you have any fancy Muggle clothes?"

"Uh... yes, I got a rather nice one last summer. Should be fine with a bit of spell-work, I guess."

"I'll help you with that."

Ten minutes later, three males stood in front of the modest house.

"All right, pre-start checks: Money?"

"Check."

"Glamour charms?"

"Check."

"Wands?"

"Check."

"Heads?"

"...Check."

"All right-o! Now, take my hand, Harry, I'm going to side-along you. Remus, we're going to that bar we've finished with last time. Now, onwards!"

"You sure it's the right sort of club, Sirius?" Harry was glancing around, trying to look inconspicuous.

"Don't mind the gay guys by that table – I think they just stopped here to wait for someone. No, believe me, kid – we're exactly where we need to be."

"Again with the 'kid'. I'm not a child."

"I'll tell you two reasons why it doesn't matter. First, you don't get to choose your nicknames. Second, if you're not a child at heart now, you will become one sooner rather than later."

"Why would I do that?"

"You're hanging out with me, that's enough."

"Well, I'm still a responsible and mature member of society, and I've been with you for how many years?" the werewolf asked dryly as they neared the bar.

"Remus, you're a separate head case. Anyway, we'll have... what will we have?"

"I dunno. You're supposed to be the expert here."

"Oh fine. B-52. Three of them."

Harry watched with interest as the barman – a young man of maybe twenty years – quickly manipulated bottles with what he assumed to be alcohol. Soon, three shots of triple-layered cocktails were set before the company.

"So ... is there any special trick to this?" Harry asked, sizing his shot up.

"Oh, kid, there are so many ways to drink alcohol it's not even funny. This one, for example... Light 'em up, please. Thank you."

The barman immediately ignited the three shots with a matchstick.

"Now, in one gulp, through a straw."

Harry did so, and immediately his nervousness about this whole affair was washed away by the pleasant heat that spread from his stomach.

"Feels good, right? It's just a warm-up, kiddo. This will be a night to remember!"

Harry felt horrible.

Sure, he went through worse things, but Deep Bomb hangover was certainly in the top ten of his mortal suffering list. He tried to open his eyes, but failed. On his third try, the left eyelid cracked open. He capitalised on the small success and gradually managed to reboot his senses.

He was lying in bed. A quick pants check showed that a) he was clothed, b) he had someone's arm draped over him. Carefully, Harry turned his head, trying not to aggravate it, and noticed that whoever it was that was near him, it was a girl.

After spending a couple of minutes processing this unexpected turn of events, he sat up excruciatingly slowly. The teen stumbled from the bed, summoning a sudden bout of nausea and a spike of a migraine, and made his way to the kitchen. From the vague memories of last night's events that waddled in his head like flobberworms in a cauldron, he could recall Sirius saying something about a stock of hangover cure potions he had there. A potion sure sounded nice – hell, Harry would agree to drink anything barring Skele-Gro just to get rid of it.

He opened the door to the kitchen and his field of vision was immediately occupied with Sirius' face.

"Morning," his godfather said in a tone so bright it made Harry's teeth clench.

"Potion. Now."

"Someone can't hold their liquor. What happened to Mr. 'I-know-my-limits', huh?" Sirius teased, passing the desired vial. Harry gulped its contents down without noticing. Immediately, colours returned to the world, the blunt pain in his head vanished and sickness left as if it never were there, making him groan in bliss.

"Oh damn, that's the stuff... No, I can hold my liquor just fine for a guy who barely ever drinks, it's the hellish stuff that you gave me caused trouble."

"Just as planned. You can't just gulp down three Deep Bombs and remain standing unless you have some experience, which you don't."

"Who came up with the idea of mixing beer and vodka in that insidious manner, anyway? The first two went in all right..."

"Hell if I knew."

"And wait. Are you saying you intended to get me ridiculously smashed?"

"Yes, I did. Before you start shouting and wake Moony up, tell me: what do you remember of last night?"

Harry creased his brow and sat down opposite his godfather.

"Well, we went to first bar, drank a couple of cocktails, and then went to the club. There we met some girls, went to the floor, found out I can't dance worth crap. After that... another bar, we're there with the same girls. I've been talking a lot... then I started... oh dear, I started making out with that blonde," the teen's eyes widened as he remembered the fact that he woke up with someone in his bed, which eluded him to this moment.

"A-ha. Look, kid, I knew that in your condition you wouldn't be able to do much and would just embarrass yourself, end up with an issue and be miserable for a good while. It's better if you didn't do anything due to passing out cold."

"You speak as though you have already went through something like that," Harry noted. Sirius sipped his tea and shook his head with a smirk.

"Not me. Prongs did."

"Father?"

"Yeah. One summer evening after fifth year we went out to the Muggle London. Ended up picking up chicks – even Wormtail. Anyway, Prongs was drunk like you won't believe, and due to this and him going through another 'Lily will never love me' phase, he bedded his chick. Need I say that it didn't go as swimmingly as he hoped? Drunk sex isn't the best out there, even if it is the most popular way to get your cherry popped. Well, he was crushed for the remainder of the holidays."

For a while there was a silence, broken only by the sounds of Harry pouring himself some tea.

"Putting my father's shenanigans aside, what do we do with her?"

"A Confundus and side-along Apparition to London. I'll get to it in a bit," Sirius quietened, looking at the teen searchingly. "What's wrong?"

Harry grunted irritably.

"What isn't? I kind of cheated on Susan, kidnapped an unfamiliar girl and I don't object to the plan of just depositing her in the middle of the city without a smallest idea of what happened. In short, I feel like a complete and utter scumbag."

The tirade was met with a shake of a head and a shushing motion.

"Hold it right there. First of all, you were absolutely smashed. You can't blame yourself for fooling around a bit. The chick was a redhead, so you probably confused her with your girlfriend."

"Bollocks. I'm almost certain there was no confusion taking place."

"What I'm trying to say is you are not to blame here. Besides, Susan can't be mad at you for something she doesn't know about. Why are you upset?"

"Because... I have betrayed her confidence. Her trust."

The awkward silence that followed was broken only by Remus stumbling inside with a weary face and a weak salutation. The werewolf immediately walked to the fridge and started rummaging inside.

"How are you two faring?"

"Swimmingly, if you don't count the guilt fest pup decided to throw."

"What?" Lupin glanced up, throwing a worried look at Harry.

"He's beating himself up for making out with that girl because he has a girlfriend."

"Ah. Well, that's an unpleasant situation," he took a pack of eggs out of the fridge and went over to the sink in search for a pot.

"Tell me about it. The party man over here keeps telling me that as long as you're intoxicated, it's okay," Harry grumbled.

"You made it sound much less persuasive than what I said."

"Po-tah-to, Sirius. Anyway, I think I'll get her to London and walk her to her place. That's the least I could do."

"Good thinking, Harry."

The teen shrugged and went for his wand. Instead, his hand grasped a tissue. He took it out and almost threw it in the bin, but stopped at seeing the writing on it.

"What the hell..."

Albus Dumbledore was mildly perturbed.

He returned to his office from a weekly Wizengamot session, and after a couple of minutes spent sitting down and calming his nerves with herbal tea and sherbet lemon, he noticed the fact that the trio of apparatuses made to monitor the wards on Privet Drive were telling him that Harry was not there. On further inspection, they showed that Harry returned there for a brief time the day before, but left shortly.

The old warlock frowned and immediately started the search.

A couple of rather archaic, but effective scrying spells he found his young charge to be in London, in good health and not under duress of any kind. Albus carefully took note of the location given, applied the special, modified Notice-Me-Not charm and with a sharp half-turn on his heel Disapparated.

He found himself on a street in the suburbs. Harry was walking right past him when he appeared, and the quiet characteristic pop startled the teen into instinctively jumping aside and gesturing with his hand, creating a yellow-tinted shield between them.

Dumbledore dropped the charm and peered at the young wizard.

"I sincerely hope you did not just cast a spell outside of school, Harry."

"I didn't, Professor," Harry was frowning, "Why are you here?"

Albus glanced at his dropping arm and his eyebrows twitched up in recognition and surprise. _Dabbling in enchantment already? Clever, very clever. Indeed, as he hasn't cast the shield directly, it shouldn't have set off the Trace._

"I have come because the wards on the Privet Drive warned me you were not there. May I inquire as to why you left?"

Harry leaned against the wall with a sigh and lifted his eyes upwards.

"The Dursleys were really, really mad at me. Granted, they did have something of a good reason this time, but still, I did not feel safe there, even with this," he gestured to his gloved left hand. "So, I left. In the process, the Knight Bus ruined their front yard – again – so I suspect that if you try to return me there, they wouldn't be very amendable to the idea. By the way, sir, I can't help but wonder how you found me in the first place."

"Oh, a couple of simple spells. Magic can do a lot if you approach it creatively."

"Creepy. Very creepy."

"Ahem. The particularities of my search aside, you need to return. The wards on the house must be recharged, and they can only do so if you are within the house for a prolonged time period."

Harry groaned slightly and started bargaining.

"Professor, they won't be glad if I came back, and that feeling is mutual. I simply do not want to see them again."

"You can only spend the nights there, spending the days elsewhere. I dare say you have enough friends to meet and visit to last you this summer," the old man suggested. Harry blinked.

"That would be acceptable, as long as I really don't have to interact with the Dursleys."

"Then it is settled. Take my hand."

After throwing another notice-me-not on them both, Albus vanished with a crack, pulling the teen with him.

The old warlock was good to his word, negotiating with Dursleys and successfully persuading them to let it go (after repairing their front yard with a minute twitch of his wand). Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia was adamant that Harry 'compensate' them for his stunt with some chores done, and Dumbledore didn't see it as unreasonable.

A couple of hours every other day spent washing dishes, caring for the plants and doing other menial work was nothing the teen couldn't handle. And he could do it without being bothered by anyone! Still, Harry sometimes caught himself thinking about creating a look-alike golem so that he wouldn't have to do such things. _Something to look up when I'm back at Hogwarts._

Meanwhile, he was having a blast meeting his friends.

"Yo," Harry walked into the twins' bedroom with a jovial wave. "How's it going, gents?"

"Hey! Look who decided to visit," Fred called back, not taking his eyes off the boiling cauldron. "Close the door, will ya?"

Harry obliged, looking around with curiosity. He has never before been in this particular portion of the Burrow, as it was always closed so that no one but the twins themselves could enter, but it seems that he has earned enough favour with them by now to be allowed into their sanctum.

The room was... spacious. Much more so than Ron's, but then again, it was a room for two people. The window was very wide, allowing the natural light to bathe the room fully, but Harry could see the dark drapes near it. Many shelves near the walls were home to various books, clothes thrown haphazardly around (there was a sock hanging from the lamp), and many, many trinkets of unknown purpose. All of it was painted wildly in vivid colours. There were no beds in sight.

It all was Forgery to the extreme.

Currently, both inhabitants were sitting near a simmering cauldron. Fred was the one stirring and watching the fire while George was writing something or other down and periodically throwing prepared ingredients in.

"Do I want to know what kind of calamity this is going to bring?" Harry asked dryly, sniffing the vapours experimentally and immediately sneezing.

"Probably not, it will spoil the surprise," came an immediate answer.

"Fair enough. Ron told me to come up here. Did you need me for something or had he finally earned the right to enter here?"

"Both. Listen, you know about our idea to open a joke shop?"

Harry nodded. More than once he heard them talking about it during quiet evenings in the Common room, and occasionally even thrown in an idea or two.

"We have decided that we are ready to begin. Our first line of products is more or less ready, and the market has grown decidedly stagnant. It's time for us to shake it up a bit."

"Sounds good, but what do you need me for?"

"We need a starting capital," Fred said seriously. "We crashed in a big way when Bagman tricked us, and we just can't go through all the trouble to get funds the usual way."

"How much do you need?"

"A hundred galleons would do it. We have decided to do some work not related to our burgeoning business and scrounge up some more money – that's where Ron comes in."

The younger redhead stumbled into the room.

"Did someone mention me?"

"I did, in fact. I was just about to tell Harrykins here about your newfound talents," Fred replied, stirring the potion, which had just started producing ruby red smoke. Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron who was sporting a wide grin on his face.

"Talents? What is it, have you finally unlocked your singing voice?"

"Sod off," the redhead huffed in a manner oddly reminiscent of Hermione. It was an internal joke in their dorm – Ron very much liked to sing, and did possess a good ear, but alas, he was a growing boy, and the mutation of his voice chords had been making singing difficult for him. It didn't stem his enthusiasm, though, and thereby the other boys in the dorm had to suffer through his vocalising (which sounded like very, very bad yodelling) every third evening or so. "That joke grew a beard a year ago."

"A singing beard," George muttered without looking.

"So, what have you been up to?"

"Oh, this and that... when I returned from Hogwarts, mum roped us all into helping her with a Great Clean-Up. I found her old school books. Did you know she writes in them just as you do?"

"No."

"Most of them were potion books. So, I picked them up, and started looking through them. You know, so that I had a reason to stop cleaning."

"Did you get anything new from them?"

"In fact, I did! She had these little titbits written here and there to explain what's happening when and why and... I just was surprised."

"I can see that."

"Well, the next day, I overheard those two sods talking about a certain idea of theirs..." he stopped and gestured to Fred to speak up. The twin checked the flame once more and turned towards Harry.

"Do you know that many students have certain potions delivered to them with owl order?"

Harry stared for a couple of seconds, then his brain finished piecing together the input information.

"You want to sell potions."

"Yep. Not many stores are willing to sell many potions via owls – it's not a guaranteed source of income. Most of them sell their products directly..."

"Yeah, I know, cut to the chase. You want to set up shop in Hogwarts. I have three questions. First, will you have to do this business covertly?"

"Not as such, we aren't breaking any laws, and as we are going to do this unofficially, no one could begrudge us this. It has been done before, but right now, we will have a near monopoly on a starving market. We will just have to be careful not to attract the attention of the staff."

"Hm. Next, what's my involvement?"

"We told you. A hundred galleons would be enough to set us off, and we will earn enough money to get ourselves a shop by the end of the year."

"Lastly, what kind of potions are you planning to sell?"

"The usual: Pepper-Up, Incense of Awareness, Bruise-Be-Gone, Essence of Dittany, general antidotes. We thought about Wit-Sharpening, but you know they are toxic and we don't need anyone ending up in the Hospital Wing and busting us."

"Plus, it'll be me doing most of the brewing. I tried a couple of things here with the twins, and mum's books certainly helped, but I'm no great potioneer. As long as it's nothing fancy, I can do it. But I don't wanna risk messing up a Wit-Sharpening Potion," Ron concluded with a shrug.

"You have my blessing."

The sun was positively out to kill him. The black-haired young wizard adjusted his spectacles and scowled at the offending ball of fire, striding with all due haste to the entrance of Gringotts.

"Harry!"

The teen stopped walking at the sound of his name, turning to the caller. His eyes quickly found the familiar face.

"Tonks! What are you doing here?"

The Auror shrugged from her (obviously conjured) seat in the shade.

"A patrol job. Usually, I don't get those, but I lost a bet."

Harry leaned to the wall near her, smoothing over his heated hair.

"I think patrol duty involves – you know – patrolling, as in walking around with an intimidating face."

Tonks immediately morphed her head into one resembling a male thug.

"I can do intimidating. Walking in such heat? Not so much."

"Perfectly understandable."

"By the way, what are you doinghere? Did you pull a runner like you wanted?"

"Well, I did, but Dumbledore caught me the next day and negotiated a compromise. I sleep at my relatives' house, but spend my days elsewhere."

"And now you want to go on a shopping spree? I noticed you were going to Gringotts."

Harry shrugged.

"Well, I wanted to talk to my account manager first, but after that – yes. I need some dress robes for some sort of event this year. Plus there's a new project of mine..."

"A project?" Tonks grinned and winked at him. "What is it this time, lil' ant?"

"Well, this," Harry took a tissue from his pocket and, after smoothing it over, gave it to the Auror. She peered at the scrawls on it curiously.

"An... enchanted robe?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't take Runes, what does it do?"

"I think it makes the wearer fly."

Tonks goggled at him.

"Correction: levitate. There's also some runes there that hint at shield charms, but I haven't figured out what they do yet," Harry rubbed his neck with a frown.

"Haven't figured out? This is _your _handwriting! Don't you remember what is it you wrote down?"

"It is, but why do you think it's written on tissue? I was drunk at the time."

The young woman laughed, her hair shifting to bright green from her mirth.

"Yes, laugh it up," Harry grumbled, taking the scheme back and looking at it ponderously. "I'll have to copy it to parchment and take it apart. Why the shield..."

"Only you could get sloshed and draw up something wonderful. The only thing I get the morning after is the hangover," Tonks sighed.

"I'll have to remember to take a notebook next time I go out into a bar. Say, when does your 'patrol' end?"

"An hour and half," she answered after lazily twitching her wand in a non-verbal Tempus. "I can hang out with you after that, so long as you get me an ice-cream or two."

"Done."

He walked off with a lazy salute and quickly made his way to the Gringotts. _I wonder how Tearshape is going to react to my idea._

**An hour and half later**

Harry was boiling. He and Tonks have just chosen a table in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour, as he was in critical need of cooling down.

He quickly bought them some frozen goodness and seemingly started experimenting on if it is possible to melt it with a glare.

"So, you go into the bank, spend some time there, and then return pissed off as all get out. Bad news?" Tonks was stretching her legs lazily in her seat, slowly savouring her strawberry-flavoured ice-cream. Harry grunted.

"You can say that, yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He considered it, playing with his spoon thoughtfully.

"Might as well get it off my mind. Did you know that only goblins are permitted to trade goods with Muggles?"

"I remember reading about it. It was the primary concession we made after the third rebellion. Why do you mention it?"

Harry snorted.

"Well, I had this brilliant idea... no, scratch that: I had this dozen of brilliant ideas about how I could get rich very quickly by playing with Muggle markets and magic. And I didn't think that goblins had the same thought in their heads already and had cut the competition pre-emptively."

"Yeah, they are conniving little buggers. In the end, though, joke was on them – their magic isn't exactly the marketable kind," Tonks cracked a grin. "They are very good at defensive wards and anything to do with stones and metals, but they would never let anything forged by them into Muggle hands. And wand-magic was prohibited to them by the same treaty that gave them exclusive rights to trade with Muggles."

"So it's more like 'we can't profit from this, so we won't let anyone else'?"

"More or less. They invest their gold, but nothing more."

Harry snorted and finally started eating.

"Can I get another, by the way?" Tonks asked slyly. The teen lifted his eyes at her.

"Already? Oh, fine, I need one too anyway. Do you have any paper on yourself by any chance?" he dropped the tissue with runes scrawled on it on the table.

"Let me get my notebook..."

Twenty minutes and six ice-creams later, Harry was oscillating between bursting with pride at his accomplishment and being aggravated at the many things that eluded him in this scheme.

"I guess I can understand this section," he grumbled to himself, scratching his head dejectedly, "It's madness, but it can work. I think I got the idea from that girl and her joke about gravity and Monroe. But this matrix... blast me, it's just beyond good and evil. Bah, I'll just figure it out experimentally. Hey, Tonks, do you know anything about where I can get the cheapest possible clothes?"  
"What?" she blinked, having spent all this time observing him amusedly. "Why would you need that?"

"I need to have something to experiment on. A lot of somethings, as my work on a rune-inscribed glove proved."

"Gotcha. You need cheap robes? There's this shop right behind the corner..."

"Well, I don't need robes exactly – I think that some cheap T-shirts would do for the beginning," he glanced over the rows of runes on the sheet of paper before him. "Then I'll need to move on to robes, but it's relatively far off."

She shrugged and stood up, lazily stretching her legs.

"I think I know a place or two that will have what you need."

Without further ado, she dragged Harry from his seat and introduced him to what would be the most torturous task given to any man; clothes shopping with a woman.


	18. It hits the fan

**Kinda important Author's note**

**A guy complained that the previous chapter didn't have enough plot progress. Well, here you go – plot progress stuff and barely anything else. I know, I'm lazy, but right now I need to focus on finishing the plot for the next book. **

**Ah yes, I haven't told you yet. I decided to finish this story in two or three chapters (the Triwizard tournament and the events that lead to Harry leaving Britain), and after that I will start the main story. This here, ladies and gentlemen, is just a prequel. A deficient, sloppy, albeit necessary prequel. My next work will be much, much more awesome.**

**Still, on with the show.**

**Chapter 18: It hits the fan**

** 30th October, the Hogwarts kitchen**

"Harry Potter, sir."

Harry blinked as he lifted his eyes from his tea. Matty – the only house-elf around without a ridiculous accent and Harry's favourite for that reason – was standing in front of him with an unusually grave expression on his face.

"Yes, Matty? What is it?"

"Headmaster summons you to the Great Hall. It is urgent."

The youth's eyes widened and he rose from his seat, swearing violently. After verifying that nothing was out of place, smudged with food or otherwise in need of correction, he hastened to the exit.

When he entered the Great Hall, he saw it awash in mutterings. As the teen walked inside, every head turned to him. _This is not good._

Dumbledore was looking at him as well with the look that made certain alarm bells to ring in his head.

"I did not enter my name, professor," Harry said, his words clear above the murmurs.

"Your name came out, regardless. Please go to the others," the Headmaster answered shortly with a sharp gesture, peering at the scrap of paper in his hands as if it was some sort of arcane mystery. _Then again, it probably is._

As the young wizard walked to the room where the other champions vanished into not five minutes before, he felt resignation fall on his shoulders like a cloak.

_Merlin, I knew it would end like this._

_ I knew it from the beginning._

**Two months before**

"This year will be a clusterfuck. I feel it in my bones."

It was the beginning of the Start-of-Term Feast. The first-years had already been sorted, Dumbledore invited everyone to eat, and Harry was carefully not looking at the newest addition to the High Table, one Dolores Jane Umbridge.

"Wha...?" Ron mumbled through a piece of chicken, which he swallowed immediately after. He tried again. "What do you mean?"

Harry gestured with his fork, barely holding the piece of meat on it from leaving it prematurely.

"The abomination in pink."

"Ahm... you know her?" Ron raised a brow at his friend. Harry shrugged.

"Well, yes. That's Umbridge," he said sardonically.

"Umbridge. The Umbridge." Ron had a completely deadpan look on his face as he glanced at his friend, then shifted his gaze to the indicated woman and back. And again.

"Uh-hum."

"Yup, clusterfuck," came the affirmation.

"Boys," Hermione chided absently as she also looked at the teachers' table in worry. "She's not the only new addition. Look at that man."

The man in question, a young fellow with a neatly trimmed goatee and slacked-back black hair, sat near Snape, and by the looks of it was currently holding a conversation with him. The usually dour potions professor actually changed his expression to something close to pleasant.

"Hm. Wonder who he is, to be so chummy with the bat. Hopefully, he's not the new Defence guy," Ron remarked. Harry winced and shook his head.

"I wouldn't say that. First, he looks like he could actually be better than Quirrell or Lockhart. Second, when the alternative is the Toad in a position of power over me, I think I would take Lockhart."

"Point," the redhead nodded.

Ten minutes later, when the feast came to an end and all food had vanished, Dumbledore rose from his throne-like chair.

"Now that the grumbling of your stomachs won't get in the way, I will go over the announcements," he said with a note of humour. "First of all, I remind you – some items are not permitted in our castle. The complete list can be viewed near the office of out caretaker, Argus Filch. Next, the Forbidden Forest is actually forbidden and is not called that just for the laughs. There are quite a few dangerous creatures in there that even adult wizards would be wise to avoid. Using magic in the corridors is still very much against the rules, so I advise you not to be caught."

Chuckles met that statement. The supporters of the no-spells-in-corridors rule in the face of Filch just glared at the students and started muttering.

"Now, onto the news. With great pleasure, I introduce our new professor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts, Martin Lamberg."

The new professor waved lazily at the sound of polite applause.

"Before I introduce our other guest, though, I am afraid that I must first be the bearer of bad news; the school Quidditch championship is cancelled this year."

Cue the protest. Loud protest.

"You can't!"

"What?"

"How? What did we do?" That was Fred.

The headmaster lifted his hand, silencing the cries of indignation with but a gesture.

"The reason for this is that Hogwarts is to host something much bigger than schoolyard Quidditch. It is my great pleasure to announce that the Triwizard tournament will once again take place in our school."

"You're **joking!**" George burst out; his twin's hanging jaw conveying his agreement with the sentiment. Harry glanced at Hermione questioningly, but she shook her head and nodded at Dumbledore, who was visibly smiling at the students' reaction.

"I most certainly am not joking, Mr Weasley. For those who are not aware of what the tournament entails, I will explain. The tournament was created to promote cooperation between the three schools of magic in northern Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A single champion represented each institution in a series of certain very difficult and dangerous tasks. The winner would earn honour and recognition for both himself and his school as well as a sizable monetary prize."

The students practically buzzed in excitement.

"The tournament took place every five years for a better part of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries until the casualty rate grew too high and the schools decided to cease the practice."

"Casualty rate?" Hermione asked quietly. Harry winced and turned to her.

"I sense a mess approaching. My knees are tingling, which is not a good sign."

"There have been attempts to resurrect the tournament, of course," Dumbledore continued, blissfully unaware of (or outright ignoring) the mutterings. "None of them were truly successful. Nevertheless, our Department of Magical Cooperation along with their respective counterparts concluded that the time has come for another attempt. We have been working for a year to ensure the safety of the champions."

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will come here in the end of October with their chosen candidates, and the choosing of champions will take place on Halloween. An objective judge will pick the most suitable student to represent the school in the Triwizard tournament and contend for the prize of one thousand Galleons."

"Oh, you're on," Fred muttered, his enthusiasm clearly visible. He was not alone in his wish – Harry could see more than three dozen people on all the four tables clearly imagining themselves as the champion.

"I know that many of you desire to be the one to defend the honour of our school, but my colleagues and the Ministry representatives have decided to implement an age rule. Only those of age will be allowed to participate," Dumbledore spoke louder as the mutinous murmurs rose at that particular news. "This measure is necessary due to the danger of the tasks that remains regardless of our efforts to limit the risks, and any student who is not a seventh year is very unlikely to beat them. I will personally ensure no one under the age of seventeen will be able to enter his or her name. Therefore, I sincerely advise you not to waste time on trying to circumvent the procedure."

"Now, the delegations from our neighbours will arrive next month and will spend the rest of the year with us. I do not doubt you will make them feel welcome and full-heartedly support the Hogwarts champion after he or she is chosen. The organisation of the tournament and all matters that pertain to it fall under the purview of our last guest today, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Madam Dolores Umbridge."

Harry tsked as the woman was greeted by stilted applause, his mind working furiously as he contemplated the new information.

"Now, it is already late, and you have lessons tomorrow. Off you trot!"

When the trio entered the Gryffindor Common room, Harry walked to the window. As he stared into the night sky, Ron and Hermione stood near.

"What do you think?" the girl asked quietly.

"She's not a teacher. The only way she could gain opportunity to harm me is if I were to enter the tournament," Harry drummed his fingers on the glass in contemplation. "I must not be entered in this madness, otherwise this year in Hogwarts will be just as dangerous to me as our first two. Maybe even more."

"I don't think anything could top the basilisk," the redhead shrugged.

"Not helping, Ron."

The first few weeks did little to soothe Harry's progressing paranoia. The student population still believed Skeeter's articles and therefore, treated him like a leper. Still, despite Hermione's advice, he still didn't wish to "turn this farce into a pissing contest" and respond to the wave of scorn with anything but absolute indifference. This attitude made his friend want to pull her hair out from frustration – yes, she was all for not answering to insults with insults, but this was getting ridiculous!

Susan also didn't share his view on the matter. In fact, they had a huge row after this particular gem escaped his lips:

"I don't owe any explanation to the sheep. They are fools enough to believe Skeeter, who made her name on blowing things way out of proportion, and I am not obligated to waste my time on idiots."

Wrong move, Harry. Never admit to treating people like dirt in any way in the presence of a staunch Hufflepuff.

In the following ten minutes, the niece of the intimidating Head of DMLE slowly and with deadly precision tore her (currently) moronic boyfriend a new one. She called him out on being an arsehole with an ego the size of the moon, logically proved that the school populace reacted that way because they were given information with no data to contradict it (which made Harry blink and surreptitiously check if it wasn't Hermione under Polyjuice he had been snogging not a half-hour earlier). In conclusion, she finished him off with a demand for him to get his head out of his backside and actually do something about his plummeting reputation.

Harry, shell-shocked and actually quite impressed, couldn't disagree and promised to think about it.

To Harry's slight bewilderment, the newest Defence teacher turned out to be an ex-Hit Wizard and a mercenary, therefore very knowledgeable in the subject he taught. He favoured a straight-away and practical approach to teaching, which was actually great fun, but Harry found himself bored. He had been – and still was twice a week – put through the wringer by Flitwick, and performing on the expected level of his peers (which to him was no level at all) taxed his patience. Still, professor Lamberg only shrugged when told of the problem and said something in the spirit of: "Not my problem, I have other brats to take care of. Occupy yourself somehow."

Umbridge, to Harry's growing bemusement and suspicion, was not making any moves and was rarely seen aside of mealtime, bustling about the castle and talking to staff members – mostly Filch. Still, organising an event such as the Tournament was probably a rather time-consuming job, so it was to be expected.

The twins' venture of selling potions to the school populace turned out to be a big success, as they were known to be very talented in Potions, their manner of pushing Snape to the brink of apoplexy on a weekly basis with their antics aside. Of course, only select few knew that it was Ron who was actually doing most of the work. Speaking of Ron, Snape's face when he realised that the "second dunderhead" of the fifth year suddenly gained some competency in brewing should have been immortalised with a picture. Never before had Harry wished for Colin Creevey with his infernal camera to be nearby.

Harry's own studies, too, took a rather unexpected turn.

The Hogwarts Library in the beginning of the term usually contained only the most hard-core of Ravenclaws, the librarian and Hermione, searching for some fresh light reading. The bright morning of September 3, however, the latter was in the natural nerd pilgrimage destination in search for something else. Or, rather, someone else.

"Harry?"

The youth in question only hummed acknowledgement without raising his head from the book he was reading with his brow creased. Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned closer, looking at the title of the book.

""Artificial, Yet Life-Like: Golems". Oh, Harry, please tell me you don't plan on wasting your time on a golem in our OWL year!"

"I don't plan on wasting my time on a golem in our OWL year," the mechanical answer came.

"Good."

"I plan on creating a golem in our OWL year, nevertheless. It won't count as a waste of time if I actually succeed."

Hermione exhaled in defeat and slumped down on the seat next to him.

"Why do you want to do that, anyway?"

"Many reasons," Harry responded vaguely, leafing through a couple of pages. "Do you want the nice one, the paranoia induced one, or the science freak one?"

"How about the true reason?"

The teen tilted his head in thought, bookmarking the page he was on and closing the book.

"Huh, I don't remember which was the first... But never mind that, let's get to the question that I wanted to ask you: will you assist me in this noble task?"

"Tell me one reason why would I want that."

"Easily. First, I am Harry Potter and you are Hermione Granger."

"Prat. That doesn't count."

"Second, this won't actually affect our OWLs in any negative way, as I think we'll finish the job by March. On the contrary, as this is going to be one damn impressive for our age work which incorporates Runes, Arithmancy, Charms and Transfiguration, we will almost certainly manage to wrangle a lot of special credit for this."

"Deal."

Without any significant events to mark its progress, September bustled by quickly in a swish of dark robes, leaving the scene to October. The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons delegations arrived one gloomy evening in the middle of the month and were quickly ushered inside without much pomp.

You would think that the presence of the newcomers would change the routine of the castle's inhabitants, but it was not so. The most visible changes were the new faces in the Great Hall during mealtime and the more frequent Umbridge sightings. The drawing of champions was scheduled for the Halloween feast, which set Harry on edge.

Things never went well on Halloween.

Despite the somewhat worsening state of affairs in school for the youth, his own studies progressed rather nicely. The creation of a golem, it seemed, was much more complicated than he'd believed before actually getting to work.

For most people, the word "golem" meant a lumbering, intimidating hulk of rock that was only useful for lugging around heavy weights and large-scale battles between wizard collectives. However, those rock-golems were the least complicated and useful type of golem. Harry had no need for a portable spell-resistant battering ram, so he went for a more practical and challenging variant: flesh-golem.

The ignorant often mistakenly called a flesh-golem "homunculus", but they couldn't be further from truth. A homunculus was a hypothetical creation, a living creature biologically very close to human, but created artificially with alchemy. Flesh-golem, however, was more like a statue made of flesh and animated to do the bidding of their masters. Due to the fact that organic matter was a much better conductor for magic than non-organic, flesh-golems were much smarter than their stone cousins and actually were capable of limited independent thinking. Of course, they were not sentient; in that regard they were much like portraits, only a bit dumber. The other important fact about them was that done right, they always looked identical to their creator due to the methods involved in their creation.

The process started by the crafting of body itself. It was slowly transfigured out of organic matter (pig flesh, in this case) and fed mana until it saturated the flesh to the point where the transfiguration became permanent. After that, the skin was inscribed with runic arrays in key places, such as joints, the spine, and the back of the head. The more experienced wizards created the skeleton first and added the flesh later, as it was much easier and safer to inscribe the control runes on bones themselves than rely on a spell that would copy the runes on skin to the surface of the bone, but Harry wasn't sure he would be able to accomplish this feat.

Finally, the last step was the most difficult. The "imprinting", which required a ritualistic sacrifice of a drop of blood and a lot of precise wand work.

Naturally, the use of blood along with the very nature of flesh-golems made the whole thing borderline Dark in the eyes of the Ministry. The only reason it wasn't restricted, in Harry's opinion, was the relative scarcity of the wizards who decided to create a flesh-golem instead of making a somewhat living body with any other method, most of which were really Dark.

By the end of the month Harry and Hermione barely finished the transfiguration of the body due to frequent annoying mishaps like the pig corpses starting to rot in the middle of the conversion (stasis charm malfunction), weird misfires of transfiguration spells (solved later by the use of stabilisation runes) and faint oinks (reason unknown, it left Hermione flabbergasted and repeating that there is no such thing as accidental necromancy). This strip of bad luck vexed Harry something fierce, but as he further investigated the following steps, he discovered several shortcuts that would still allow them to meet the deadline they set for themselves.

And that was where the plan went down in flames.

**30th October, the room behind the Great Hall**

The door opened with a loud bang, letting everyone know of Harry's foul mood. The startled jump the talking Ministry official made would be somewhat amusing at any other time, but Harry had sunk too deeply in thought to give it more than a cursory glance. He strolled to the closest wall and leaned on it, shutting himself off from any attempt at conversation.

Finally, after five minutes of waiting, the door opened again, admitting the three heads of schools along with Umbridge.

"...unprecedented offence!" Karkaroff ranted, his fur-lined coat jumping on his back from his agitation. "Dumbledore, we need this crisis solved, and we need it solved yesterday!"

"Be patient, Igor," the elderly wizard admonished, striding to the fireplace and turning sharply, putting himself in the spotlight. "Now that we are all gathered, we need to find out just what has led to the situation we find ourselves in, and how we should proceed from here."

Madam Maxime wanted to say something, but Dumbledore lifted his hand in a sign that he was not yet finished, and the imposing woman abruptly shut her mouth. Harry's eyebrow twitched upwards – he wasn't aware that Dumbledore was influential enough to be able to shut his (technically) equals with a mere gesture. Granted, they were on his turf...

"First of all, let me sincerely congratulate the champions. You are now in the spotlight of three countries. I wish you best of luck in this noble competition."

He was being every inch the gracious host. Harry glanced at the trio of students. The only one he even vaguely recognised was the seventh-year Slytherin the name of whom he did not remember. The guy's only remarkable features was him being a near-prodigy and having the misfortune to be born from a Muggleborn. The teen himself was physically unassuming, his face frozen in a stony mask.

The next champion was a girl wearing Durmstrang attire. She made the impression of being a fighter, but something of an attention-seeker, which automatically translated into 'duellist' in Harry's mind. She had sharp features, only adding to the 'tough girl' image. Despite it all, Harry found her rather attractive.

The last competitor, a French guy, was very, very tall and almost painfully thin. Somehow, he managed to not look ridiculous and instead pull off a vaguely Snape-ish impression, something along the lines of being all tall, dark and broody. Add in a somewhat crooked nose, and the resemblance was rather striking. The only thing that spoiled (or fixed) the picture was the clean hair...

"...we need to ascertain one thing. Harry, did you put your name in the goblet?"

"Hm?" the teen was drawn from his momentary musings. "No, of course not."

"Did you ask anyone else to put your name in?" the headmaster pressed. Harry frowned in irritation.

"No, and, before you ask, I have neither wish to participate nor any kind of idea of who put my name in."

"No wish to participate? Truly?" Karkaroff cut in, staring at the youth. His voice suggested, no, outright shouted to anyone who listened that he didn't believe him.

"I have no need for anything this tournament could give me," Harry shrugged and started counting on his fingers. "Money? I have it. Recognition? I've only ever wished to fade into obscurity, or at the very least not be known solely for the fact that I somehow discorporated a Dark Lord before I even could walk under the table. Excitement? Despite my love for Quidditch, I'm not an adrenaline junkie and possess a rather healthy, if I may say so, self-preservation instinct that violently disapproves of participating in any event that can, quite possibly, end with me dying in a blaze of glory. Or a blaze of gory, which is much more likely... Finally, the postponement of the exams and special credit? Please. I'm rather looking forward to my OWLs and the way a certain project of mine will impact my marks."

"To sum up: the tournament will not give me anything of value, and yet will most likely consume an unreasonable amount of time for preparations, not to mention the risk of being seriously maimed or killed outright. In light of this, I repeat: I did not enter myself, have no idea of what idiot put me in, and request that you don't count me as a champion despite some questionable piece of enchanted wood saying otherwise."

"I'm afraid it is not that simple, my boy," Dumbledore looked troubled.

_Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all._

_**Journal entry #51, 2**__**nd**__** November**_

_ The past two days were... trying._

_ Despite my suspicions about the Triwizard Tournament, the fact that I was drafted to participate managed to blindside me. I never actually believed that fate would drop that bomb on me. I should have known better._

_ The school population is now actively grumbling at my sight. Skeeter is having a field day with this, and I told Susan to stop bothering with the crowd control. It's beyond help, now. I'm afraid that Umbridge won this little clash, and she knows it. She keeps looking at me with that little smirk..._

_ I am considering my future perspectives. As my reputation is finally shot to death (for which I am, to my shame, partially to blame – I thought that answering to the slander was beneath me, which the masses seem to have interpreted as an admission of guilt), any kind of job that deals with society is out of question._

_ Correction: any job that deals with the British population. Maybe I should consider moving out of the country? Something to think about, anyway._

_ The other bad thing to come out of this farce is the fact that Flitwick is no longer able to tutor me. The rules explicitly state that no member of staff from any school can tutor a champion. He was very apologetic, but still dropped some hints as to what I need to know to survive this mess. He's a nice guy. A little of a pain in the ass sometimes (literally, that pinching hex of his forced me to drop my shield a couple of times already), but nice._

_ My friends – all the Weasleys here, Hermione, Neville and even Luna – ambushed me on my way to the kitchens yesterday and dragged me into an unused classroom, where they had prepared a little feast and assured me that they still believed in me and were my friends and no articles or tricks of fate would change that. _

_ Honestly, it was more than a little heart-warming._

_ But on to the more pressing matters. The First Task is scheduled for the 29__th__, and Hermione supplied me with the recordings of the previous Tournaments. The First Task traditionally involves dealing with dangerous magical creatures, anything from swarms of Lethifolds up to dragons and basilisks. She, Ron and I brainstormed the issue and came up with a study plan._

_ First, I will research heavy-duty shields that protect from most of possible threats – poison fumes, acid, fire, physical force. Next, I will look into illusions, disorientation and confusion charms along with some reliable stealth spells. Finally, I need something to move faster to dodge crap and/or bug out quickly if things get really ugly._

_ I sincerely hope that it will be enough, but..._

_ It must be enough._

_ It must._

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

Hermione was looking fairly annoyed, as the boy in question was not studying the spells that could help him survive the upcoming event, but was tinkering with the golem instead – again.

"I know what you're going to say. Don't bother," came a flat answer, accompanied by a tired glance. "I need this. If I learn another useless spell in the next three hours, my head is going to explode. This... this helps."

The girl groaned softly and approached him, absently noting the newly drawn runes on the completely featureless body.

"Harry, Dumbledore postponed your OWLs to the next year. This is pointless. If you are tired, then nap, you aren't doing anyone any favours by staying up."

"I'm not sleepy. On the contrary, I'm restless," the youth waved her off, pausing in his drawing for a second to aim a proper glare at her. Or try to, at least. The bags under his eyes somewhat sabotaged his efforts.

"Your insomnia is worsening," Hermione sat down near him, a worried expression on her face. "Ron told me. Harry, you're running yourself dry."

An explosive sigh. The thin brush covered in blood-ink clattered on the table. He leaned against the wall, gazing upwards.

"I just can't shut down for _hours_. Worrying. Questioning. Ideas bouncing in my head." _I wonder for how long that webbing has been there... _"As bad an Occlumens as I am right now, I can't cut down the time needed to sleep, so my thinking suffers and worsens my nerves even further. I have already asked Pomfrey for some calming potion, but she'd had only two doses left. I already drank those to get some sleep."

"Is it that bad?"

"It is. I... I'm afraid, Hermione. Afraid that I won't measure up. Afraid that I won't survive."

A tight embrace.

"You have the luck of the devil, Harry. You always survive. Just do all you can and hope for the best."

Silence. Only the drips of red liquid on the floor disturb it. Finally, a hoarse whisper:

"Thank you."

**20****th**** of November**

** Hagrid's hut**

"…I s'ppose tha' a couple of dragon species can see heat," Hagrid palmed his beard in thought and added: "Seems to be a common trait amongst anythin' reptilian, like snakes and summat."

"Heat," Harry murmured thoughtfully. "Now that's going to be tricky."

"Some burrowin' creatures sense tremors in the earth and use it to navigate. Nifflers, Dune-Worms from the Sahara desert, those little pesky li'l buggers… wha' were they called…"

The half-giant started snapping his fingers with a look of supreme concentration on his face, trying to recall the name of the rare species.

When Harry came to him with a request to explain how different magical creatures sense the world, Hagrid was delighted and almost immediately started babbling information right as he poured an enormous cup of tea to the – frankly – chilled teen. Harry could only stare at him as his enchanted quill started writing down the comprehensive – if not redacted – guide "Magical Creatures and their Magical Senses".

_It rarely comes up, _Harry mused, _but Hagrid really is an expert in his field. _

He felt rather warm inside at the thought that the absent-mindedness aside, his friend was actually very competent, his reputation as something of a buffoon notwithstanding.

"Ah, yes! Amazonian scaled moles! Bad-tempered, bu' if they were tamed, they would revolutionize mining. I wonder if the Goblins tried…"

As the evening went on, Harry's mental list of spells he needed to look at in order to mask his presence from any creature gradually increased.

_I think I'm going to sleep in the library for the next couple of days…_

**29****Th**** of November**

** A large clearing in the Forbidden Forest**

Harry was pale like a ghost, but his eyes were set with determination. He had a real cause for feeling nervous: the first task was historically the most lethal, and the tensions were high this day.

The Durmstrang girl – Aletha Gramm – was the calmest out of the four, routinely checking her gear and not paying any mind to her fellow contestants. The lanky French, Jean Maredeau, on the opposite, was pacing and wringing his hands. The Slytherin, Mark Reinth, didn't show any emotion at all, preferring to gaze into nothing, only occasionally glancing at the other three.

They had been waiting in the tent for a few minutes before an exuberant Ministry representative, one Mr Bagman, entered it with a huge grin on his face and a spring in his step.

For a moment, the four champions were unified in their hatred for the cheerful man.

"Everyone ready? Good! Now, for the Task. Each one of you will have to face a certain magical creature. You are, as stated before, permitted to take only your wand to the arena. Your goal is to take the disk from the chest that the creature protects. The disk is needed for the future tasks, so be careful with it."

He grabbed a leather bag and opened it, offering it to the four teens. Aletha lifted an eyebrow and drew first, dragging out a scrap of parchment with the number "2". Reinth had the luck of being placed fourth, while Harry barely stifled a groan of dismay at the bold "1" at his piece. Maredeau, of course, was to be the third to go into the arena.

"Splendid! Now that we have the order established, we can begin. Mr Potter, you go on the whistle. Oh," Bagman grinned mischievously over his shoulder as he prepared to exit the tent. "I almost forgot. The creature that you will face is a mature Roman manticore. Good luck!"

Harry's mouth opened slightly. _A manticore? I think I would prefer going against a dragon! Think, Harry, think, what do you know of them?_

The relevant information immediately sprang to the forefront of his mind. He could almost hear Hermione reading it aloud:

_Manticores are vicious, very aggressive Class V Dark Creatures. They inhabit Northern Africa and the south of Europe. They are nocturnal, territorial, live solitary or in very small groups of up to five specimen depending on the subspecies. Manticores possess the body of a lion, but have bat-like wings, a human-looking face and the tail of a scorpion. They are capable of short-distance flight and projectile poison-spitting via their tail with impressive precision. Very, very quick. In no circumstances engage them in close ranges. If possible, escape any confrontation with manticores. If it is for some reason unfeasible, confuse them, redirect their attention or bind them. Their claws and jaws are capable of inflicting heavy injuries, and the poison is slightly acidic._

Harry breathed in. Breathed out. His Occlumency exercises steadied him, gave him focus, allowing him to move past the grip of his panic.

_This is what I've been preparing for this past month. The fact that it's going to be a manticore that I'm facing doesn't change anything, the same strategy applies. Distract, slip in, and get out. Distract, slip in, and get out. Simple, short, to the point. Effective. _

His fear lessened, morphing into something useful: the adrenalin rush that will give him the edge required to survive a life-or-death situation.

When the whistle came, Harry was ready.

Ron was watching the beast on the arena with wariness. From his place on the stands it was easy to see in all its glory: the budging muscles on the cat-like body, the impressive mane, moving slightly with every breath the manticore made, the wings, folding and unfolding in agitation at the presence of the hundreds of humans on the stands, the tail, swishing and flicking, a vicious-looking stinger on the end.

Ron was more than slightly worried. Of course, compared to Hermione, who had already chewed down a couple of nails, he was downright calm, but that was because he had every confidence in his friend and believed him to be able to breeze through the challenge. But the manticore looked threatening enough for him to doubt.

Finally, Bagman gave the whistle. Ron gripped the railing in front of him and leaned forward, not wanting to miss a thing. He glanced to the side.

"Hermione, stop worrying and watch," he advised. "I might miss something that he'll do."

Hermione gave him a grateful, if a bit sickly, smile and followed his advice.

The tent's entrance lifted, and the whole stadium quietened in anticipation.

The flap fell down. No figure was seen.

"MR POTTER! IT'S YOUR TURN!" Bagman shouted.

After a couple of seconds an annoyed voice echoed from all sides of arena.

"I'm under a Disillusionment charm, if you're wondering."

"AN INTERESTING START! POTTER GOES FOR STEALTH, BUT WILL HE AVOID CONFRONTATION AT ALL?"

The answer came when a fog started condensing on the arena, darker and denser than what was natural.

"HEADMASTER DUMBLEDORE JUST IDENTIFIED THE SPELL BEFORE YOU AS THE FINIKIAN MIST, VERY USEFUL FOR FOOLING ALL SENSES!"

It was Finikian Mist, alright. Ron recognised it as the spell Harry practiced a couple of weeks ago. Its density prevented anyone but the caster from seeing inside it, and it caused all sounds to behave very weirdly. And oh boy, it _stank_.

Within the cloud, Harry fought hard not to gag. _I really wish I took time to learn the Bubblehead charm. Ugh, disgusting. _The teen shook away the thoughts and tuned out everything except the task at hand.

He carefully waded through the thick pungent mist, stepping lightly and watching the faint silhouette of the manticore stalking the other side of the arena in agitation. The main advantage of the spell he used was the fact that the caster's perception was much less limited by it than its victims. Plus, it allowed for some adjustment on-the-fly. To be on the safe side, he cast the Disillusionment, Muffling and Odour-Nullifying charms.

Yes, he really didn't want to have to fight the manticore. However, no one ever told him he had to fight it, right?

He placed a Voice-Throwing Charm on the other edge of the arena and gently tuned down the sound-warping properties of the Mist. After a couple of taunts thrown at it from that direction, the beast hunkered down for a moment and pounced off the chest it was guarding. Harry immediately slithered up to the prize, muffled the lid and opened it. Inside he saw a bronze disk, which he grabbed.

As soon as he touched it, he could feel an unmistakable tingling on his spine that always accompanied a dispelling.

_Uh-oh._

A wave of energy burst out of the chest and literally washed away the mist along with the spells Harry placed on himself.

_Double uh-oh!_

The manticore let out a confused roar, which galvanised Harry into action… or, as the case was, into a hasty withdrawal to the edge of the field, signified by the transparent wall of a physical ward.

The exit directly opposite the manticore was fifty meters from the chest. A mature manticore is capable of reacting to the sound of a running wizard within 0.1 second and can move at the speed of approximately 90 km per hour if it is hungry and a juicy robed steak is in sight. Said robed steak, while terrified out of his regrettably edible brain, is capable of accelerating up to 21 km per hour and already has a head start of thirty meters.

The question of the day is: will the hungry manticore cease to be such?

Normally, the answer would be yes.

However, while the manticore was sailing through the air in a pounce that would eat up half the distance between its jaws and its prospective prey, said prey was finishing a sharp jab with his wand in the exit's direction, calling out the incantation of the spell with fervour only summoned in life-or-death situations.

The spell in question was aptly named "Arrow Sprint", and would launch the caster in the pointed direction with incredible speed while compensating for inertial forces, so as to save the wizard from becoming paste under the influence of the forces involved.

As the following events demonstrated, it compensated _just _enough.

In the blink of an eye, Harry went from running full-tilt towards the exit to standing in the middle of the first aid tent, which now possessed a wizard-shaped hole in its side. The teen immediately grabbed at his mouth to suppress the sudden urge to retch from vertigo that the sudden acceleration and deceleration caused.

The manticore, sitting on the place where its prey _should _have been, was looking around with an extremely bemused expression. What went through its head at the sight of its prey vanishing from right in front of it will forever remain a mystery.

Five minutes later, Harry was staring at his marks. Everyone except Karkaroff went and gave him 9. The surly Durmstrang Headmaster's 6 looked rather obviously out-of place there.

"Hey, that's unfair!" Ron sputtered. "What kind of guy gives out a 6 for getting away from a _freaking manticore _without any injury?! He's obviously trying to rig this contest!"

"Objectively, with manticores, it is either you escape completely untouched, or you don't escape at all," Hermione corrected half-heartedly. "Plus, we don't know for sure. He may be just hard to impress and will measure his champion just as strictly."

"Hah! Not bloody likely," Ron muttered as they took their seats.

"Let's see for ourselves, shall we?"

Evidently, Karkaroff was really out to help his champion as much as he could. Aletha tried to trap the manticore with a transfigured cage, but the iron she created broke easily under the beast's assault, and she just barely managed to escape with her life intact. The judges rated her 7 or 6, but Karkaroff went and gave her a 10.

Jean Maredeau, however, did manage to bind the manticore with chains in an impressive display of transfiguration and charms, earning himself the first place.

Out of all contestants, Reinth proved to have either the least in terms of talent, or the most in terms of balls and common sense, as he just summoned a huge slab of meat from somewhere and distracted the manticore long enough for him to grab his disk and bug out. Dumbledore gave him an 8 with a chuckle, but everyone else didn't rate him higher than 6, stranding him on the fourth place.

As Harry was walking back to the castle with a spring in his step and the weird, featureless bronze disk in his hands, relief nearly flooded his being with the thought that he _passed _the First, and usually the most dangerous, task.

_One down, two to go._


	19. Swan Lake

**Author's note **

**The next, and – perhaps – final part will hopefully come out by the end of June. At that point, I will be heavily invested in writing the plot of the sequel as well as in exam preparations. Thereby, don't panic if I'm late. **

**On with the show.**

Chapter 19

The Swan Lake

Golden rays of light pierced the dusty air of a rarely visited room, illuminating the multitude of desks stacked upon each other in the far corner. Only one remained, standing in its lonesome in the middle, and right by it, casually tapping his fingers upon its surface, sat a young wizard.

Harry was in the process of carefully examining the bronze ring that he got out of the chest in the process of the First Task. The ring was featureless, plain and didn't betray its function with its looks alone. Frowning slightly, the teen placed it on the table before him and picked up his wand, tapping the rims of his spectacles in order to renew the spell-seeing enchantment he placed on them long ago. A couple of additional diagnostic charms later he was pretty sure that the object was a part of something else, as there were a couple of points on the inner edge where he noticed anchoring enchantments. The rest of the residue was complete gibberish and he wouldn't be surprised if most of it was just put there to confuse anyone attempting to do just what he was in the process of, but he had a feeling that it was a part of a navigational device. A compass of some sort.

_From this, I can deduct that the next task will involve us poor competitors getting another part of this compass, which will make the Third task a treasure hunt. Joy of joys._

_ Still, it beats a manticore. Unless we have to fight a cockatrice to get the next part…_

Shaking off the unnecessary train of thought, Harry glanced towards the big table in the middle of the emptied classroom. On the wooden surface lied the source of many, many frustrations for him as of late.

Namely, Frank. Full name – Frank Moonshine.

Harry could not get a full night's sleep during the week before the Task, as nervous as he was, so to occupy himself he decided to get the flesh-golem to move and interact with the world in a somewhat coherent manner. Unfortunately, the creation of the artificial intelligence that drove the construct was proving to be much more aggravatingly difficult than creating it and giving it the ability to move at all.

Harry tried everything, but the damn thing still was bugged as all get out and could not even walk along a straight line, hence the name.

Finally, a day ago, he looked at it, waved his hand and told Hermione that he trusted her to finish what he started. The girl shrugged and agreed, though not without some comments in jest about who contributed most to their common project.

Harry, though, moved on to the other design of his that he been absently designing since summer.

His Cloak of Awesomeness (working name).

The design he found in his pocket, scrawled with his hand on a piece of tissue, was rather baffling. On it was the plans for a cloak that allowed the user to _levitate._ Or, in more accurate terms, fly around while being suspended more or less upright at the maximum height of one meter.

While not particularly impressive on the first glance, it was rather innovative. The wizards had long since abandoned the idea of flying without a broom or any other cumbersome gadget due to the limitation in the telekinesis and levitation charms which on the current stage of magical progress (yes, there is such a thing) were deemed unresolvable. However, no one, to Harry's knowledge, had gotten the idea to enchant a piece of clothing to act in the manner he had in mind.

The design he found was just a start. It contained the idea of making the cloak repel all air in its vicinity in a particular direction. If Harry remembered correctly, he got the idea from the girl he had been drinking with when Sirius roped him and Remus into a bar crawl, who for some reason saw fit to educate him on the principles behind modern hovercraft. For the record, the previous topic they'd been discussing was eels.

The cloak itself was to be inscribed with several sets of runes, the purpose of which was to make sure it wouldn't flip, flop, pull a Marilyn Monroe or do anything equally embarrassing while at the same time sticking to the wearer in several key places to lift him as well as itself. The arrays that Harry read from the tissue design would never work, so he decided to hit the library to investigate sticking and paralyzing charms, anything to do with weight distribution and the specifics behind the Portkeys (the way they seemed to glue to the body of the user and keep him from moving could potentially be useful). The Cloak looked promising.

His life outside of his research, however, looked slightly less so.

The articles following the Task didn't let up on the slander of his name. Umbridge and Skeeter, it looked like, decided to give him no quarter. If it were anyone else being the victim, Harry would have been grudgingly impressed with their tenacity and determination to completely annihilate the opponent. As it was he being affected, though, he started to fear that Umbridge wouldn't stop with just his reputation.

A few days after the Task, while reading another article, containing subtle barbs in his address, he wondered just why Umbridge seemed to hate him so. The only thing he did to her was just… well… obtain all the Bloodsucker Oak acorns from a property Lucius Malfoy had owned and afterwards gifted to Umbridge. The profit she would have made if he didn't intervene would be substantial, granted, but it didn't make sense to retaliate with a hatemongering campaign of such scale.

Harry told his account manager, Tearshape, to make inquiries as to what implications their little scheme could have caused to provoke such measures. The crafty goblin had the answer within two days.

It appeared that once Malfoy the elder gifted Umbridge the oak habitat, the Senior Undersecretary immediately saw the situation as an opportunity to brownnose and passed the gift to Fudge without actually checking the property, sure in Malfoy's integrity. The Minister didn't seem to have much to do that day and asked his loyal toad to come with him to examine the land. Needless to say, the following scandal significantly worsened Umbridge's reputation (it was considered extraordinarily bad taste to re-gift things in those circles, especially so soon), and even worse, it resulted in Umbridge falling out of favour. She still retained nearly all of her connections plus was still useful, so she didn't lose her position, but she had much less influence on the Minister and he no longer was predisposed to listen to her first and the others next. In addition, she was given much more menial work, such as the organisation of the Tournament. From what Tearshape learned, it was an incredibly hard blow to her. Add to this her known tendency to hurt her enemies in any way she could, and the smear campaign no longer seemed illogical and blown out of proportion.

The second Task was swiftly approaching, but first, there was a matter of a certain Ball to deal with.

When Harry was first told of the event, he was fairly disgruntled by yet anotherthing he'd have to waste time preparing for. Still, he didn't want to embarrass himself (or Susan, who naturally agreed to be his date), and endeavoured to learn some basic dancing skills in classes McGonagall organised.

The evening itself was a rather tasteful affair and he enjoyed himself, despite what came in the aftermath of the ball.

"So, would you mind explaining me what exactly was the matter with that?"

Neville was sitting in the sole chair in the indoor greenhouse that he and Harry created last year. His questioning gaze was solidly locked on the back of the other young man, who had just finished re-planting a rather sick Tentacula.

"Hm? Ah, nothing, just my mistake, I seem to have used the wrong fertilizer last time…"

"Not the plant. Susan."

Harry shrugged as he dragged the dragon skin glove from his left hand, absently slapping away the revitalised Tentacula.

"Nothing. We just realized we're much too different to work out."

"How so, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Well…" Harry grabbed his wand from the nearby table and transfigured a chair for himself. After sitting, he drummed his fingers thoughtfully before answering.

"She's much too Hufflepuff. Too much adherence to the rules, and I'm not talking about anything major – just the little things. She hates it when I skive off History, or eat in the kitchens, or do anything at all that steps outside the common practise and/or rules."

"Ah. And what was her reaction to your major missteps? Like getting Sirius out?"  
"Blast it, Nev," Harry immediately cast a silencing charm at the door along with a basic proximity ward, "You don't just talk about such things without first ensuring you won't be overheard!"

The formerly timid teen had the good graces to blush.

"Sorry… I forgot."

"Just don't make the same mistake again," Harry requested tiredly. "And that time she mostly let it go because she was rather baffled by the whole "wrongfully imprisoned" bit. It rocked her world, so she didn't get around to giving me the silent treatment."

"Is that what she does?"

"Yeah. I honestly didn't notice just how many little rules I kept breaking until she started pointing it out. Hermione mellowed out so much since the first year she doesn't bother anymore, and it's rather nice. I found that I don't enjoy the constant badgering… whoops. No pun intended. The last straw was her insisting I stay at the ball until it's over as it's expected of me."

"You were looking rather annoyed, now that I think about it…"

"Of course I was annoyed! The music was bad and too loud once the slow dances were over, the people at the champions' table were stuffy and pompous, the other champions were being very awkward, the dress robes were extremely uncomfortable and my foot started to cramp. For bonus points, I had more than a bit of that alcoholic thing, I don't quite remember the name. So, right when that guy from the Ministry – you know, the fat one – began his speech about the international unity and all that rot, Susan told me that I should listen instead of reading the menu."

"And that blew you up?"

"No. I was very irritated, but I didn't start on her case until later on. After the dances, we went out for a snog. And… well, she started berating me."

"About?"

"Everything. She said that she wasn't sure if she wanted to continue dating, since yada-yada-yada. Well, that did the job and I started venting."

Neville winced.

"Did she slap you?"

"Twice. Once when I said that we won't work out because she's so bloody uptight. Looking back, it was a really bad move."

"Yeah. No one would like that. Doesn't make it any less true, though."

_Neville. Ever the voice of support._

"But you are still a bloody idiot who can't control his mouth."

_Or not._

"I was worked up. I'm not exactly at my brightest when angry," Harry defended himself half-heartedly. "But that pales and shrivels in the face of what I said directly after that."

The teen stood up and cleared his throat.

"Ahem. It went like this: "Seriously, I don't get what's the big idea. For me, the rules are just the handy list of what I _really_don't want to be caught doing!""

The silence lasted for a few second, after which Neville started slowly clapping.

"Harry, you are a _giant_cretin."

"I know, believe me. But hey, I had more than a couple of drinks."

"And she…?"

"She stared at me for a couple of seconds. I think she couldn't process what I said," Harry recalled with a self-deprecating grimace. "Then she slaps me and tears me a new one. Calls me… what did she say...? Ah, yes, "a self-absorbed ass whose nose is so far in the air your brain doesn't get enough oxygen, which worsens your idiotic attitude even further"."

"That sounds like something _you_ would say," Neville noted thoughtfully. "She adopted your manner of cursing."

"And that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Harry answered sardonically. "She added something me being an elitist and compared me to Malfoy."

"_Ouch._"

"Yes, ouch. After that, I couldn't stay there and not do something I would regret later, so I left. End of story. Say, can you help me with the fluxweed? I need a second pair of hands."

For a couple of minutes, the duo worked in companionable silence.

"You know," Neville muttered after a while, "s-she was right somewhat."

"What? Me being an elitist? Please, she couldn't be further from the truth and you know it."

"No, the self-absorbed thing. Harry, you ig-ignore anyone outside of me, Ron, Hermione, Luna and the G-Gryffindors who talk to you. The rest of the school – heck, the rest of the c-country – could die off and you wouldn't really notice."

The black-haired teen threw a bewildered glance at his companion.

"Hey, what did I do to provoke this?"

"Remember, last year, you s-said that being a friend means telling the hard truths when it's n-needed? Well, here you go. Tru ... truth," Neville was actively avoiding eye contact, which, along with the renewed stutter, hinted at the guy's fear of being rejected over the things he said. This went a long way to alleviate whatever anger Harry felt at the declaration.

The duo didn't say anything for a while, continuing to work in silence – one quiet with contemplation, the other simply out of bravery to continue the discussion. Finally, Harry nodded.

"You're right, Neville. Thanks."

The blond sighed in relief and offered him a shy smile.

When he left the classroom, it was already dark. The corridors were lit with the uneven light of the torches, and the ambience complimented Harry's contemplative state of mind perfectly. Actually, it matched it so well that he decided to take a rather circumvent path to the Gryffindor tower. As he climbed a staircase in a secret passage he hadn't visited too often, he noticed another figure, skipping not too far ahead. A familiar figure.

"Luna?"

The girl turned around, and looked at him dreamily.

"Harry."

"What are you doing here? It's rather late, after all," he walked closer, giving her a cursory glance to verify that nothing was out of place. Immediately, he noticed something weird. "Where are your shoes? Cute socks, by the way."

"Thank you, I do think so myself," she nodded, staring at her feet thoughtfully, as if only now realizing the wardrobe deficiency. "I found that nearly all of my shoes went missing again."

"Again?" Harry's eyebrows met in a scowl as he eyed her feet carefully, taking his wand out of his pocket. "I think I will have to talk with the Ravenclaw prefects; my reputation as a disreputable hooligan and a Dark-Lord-in-training may actually serve me here," he drummed his fingers on his wand after transfiguring a pair of shoes out of a couple of parchment scraps he found in his pocket. "Or maybe it will make things worse. Drat. Anyway, here you go. Last I checked, my transfigurations last at least a couple of hours with things this small. And your magical emissions will hopefully sustain them even further…"

"Thank you," Luna bounced up and down, checking the shoes. "This pair is much nicer than what I had, anyway."

"You're very welcome, I suppose," Harry trailed off, tilting his head. Out of all his friends, Luna was often the most insightful, and he highly valued her for the uncanny ability to make him feel better after a short talk. Making a split second decision, he sat on the stairs.

"Luna? I think I need your advice."

"What kind of advice?" she asked with airy interest, doing weird motions with her legs and examining her soles.

"Well, it was something Susan said when we broke up. I didn't pay much attention to it, but Neville pointed out that she was right in that. Luna… am I self-absorbed?"

The girl finally relented in her testing and in a fluid motion crouched near him, staring in his eyes seriously.

"No, I wouldn't think so, not completely," she said slowly. "A really self-absorbed person wouldn't help out a girl that people harass. You just… don't pay attention to anyone you don't value or don't attract your interest for some reason."

Harry was listening attentively, his mind slightly disbelieving at her seriousness. She hadn't even mentioned a single outlandish creature…

"Or you could just be the host of a Blast-a-dumble queen. But that would imply that I am also a Blast-a-dumble host, but I check regularly, and I haven't found any signs pointing to that…"

Never mind.

"Thanks, Luna," Harry smiled tiredly. "But still, Susan actually compared me to Malfoy... said that I look down on others."

The girl tilted her head to the side.

"You don't look down on people, Harry. Not really."

"Maybe you're right."

"You just can't recognise the kinds of Spranglings in others' heads."

"Eh," Harry made a quick time-out gesture. "Wait. Spranglings? You never told me of them before."

Luna looked surprised. Well, more surprised than usual: that girl always wore a look that said she was perpetually interested and intrigued by everything around her. It was one of the reasons Harry liked her so much: her attitude was refreshing.

"Really? How strange. Spranglings are creatures that live inside of our heads. They are very small, and spend their times tugging at our brains. Daddy theorised that it is they who are really thinking for us."

Harry rubbed his forehead in fond exasperation.

"Oh dear. That was rather disturbing. Never mind, what were you saying before we went off topic?"

"That you can't recognise Spranglings in people's heads, Harry."

The teen blinked.

"This… actually makes sense." _Once you translate it from Luna-speak, of course. _"Thank you, Luna. I will think on this further."

"You're welcome, Harry," came the serene smile.

_So I need to understand people's motivations better. Learn to see things from their perspective. Tall order, but manageable. _

The Sunday morning for which the Second Task was scheduled was bone-chillingly cold. The spectator stands were barely seen behind all the fur and other assorted clothing, especially in the Durmstrang section.

The champions themselves opted for lighter clothing that would not obstruct them along with heavy-duty warming charms. Still, even with them, Harry was slightly chilled and the French contender, Jean Mordeau, kept jumping on the spot, trying to warm up enough to stop his teeth from chattering.

"Well, it seems that everyone essential is already here, so we might as well start," Bagman told the four champions cheerfully. "So, the Second Task. As you can see, we have put an obstacle course around the lake," he gestured at the corridor between the shore of the lake and the high wooden fence that surrounded it. "Your task is to get an enchanted ring from the chest on the opposite side of the lake and return here. There are four rings. The obstacles range from moderately dangerous magical creatures to cursed traps. You will be graded based on your performance, and if you do not return with your ring before 60 minutes pass you will be docked points. You are allowed to work with others, but any direct attack will earn you a severe penalty. Questions?"

Aletha Gramm, the Durmstrang champion, jerked her head sharply in what could have been either a nod or an attempt to keep her wild hair out of her eyes.

"Yes, one. Is it necessary to defeat all the obstacles, or are we allowed to avoid them?"

"If you can circumvent something – be my guest, but you are generally marked by your performance, so the better you show yourself to be, the more points you get," the official shrugged. "Anything else?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Then prepare to start! I'm going to explain the rules to the spectators and then I will give you the signal. Good luck!"

And with an enthusiastic wave, he left. Harry scanned the other champions covertly. Mordeau was visibly pensive, as if recalling all the charms he has learned for this occasion. Aletha was stretching in such a way that Harry quickly averted his gaze, silently thankful for the control his Occlumency, even on current, beginner stage, gave him over his emotions. Reinth was as impassive as he always was, but in his eyes, Harry could see the deviousness he rarely saw in other Slytherins.

_He will play dirty, I just know it._

Bagman's thunderous voice echoed over the waters of the lake, disturbing its mirror-still surface. As he related the rules, the four champions walked to the starting line, which glowed like red embers.

"...And now, the Task will commence! Champions, get ready!"

Harry hunched down slightly and flipped the switch on his wrist holster that would release the wand on his demand.

"GO!"

The three boys blew ahead like cannonballs. Mordeau almost immediately took the lead, closely followed by Reinth and then Harry, who was visibly shorter than the older champions and therefore had to put some effort into running to stay close to them.

Once they entered the corridor between the lake and the fence, the visibility started to worsen almost immediately to a degree that they couldn't see more than about 40 meters in any direction. It was likely done in order to increase the chance they would be surprised by the obstacles ahead.

After a minute of running, they encountered the first obstacle – namely, a high wall made of stone. It had some obvious hand-holds that could be noticed by a cursory view, but other than that there was no hints as to what is was supposed to be testing. Harry slowed down and stopped, quickly unsheathing his wand and tapping the rim of his glasses to activate the rune-based spell-seeing enchantment that he applied a couple of weeks ago, which allowed to see much more than the charm he used before.

The wall was sparsely covered in runes that nullified any kind of sticking charms and made it highly resistant to direct damage. Other than that, it was a fairly usual wall with a Cushioning charm on the ground in front of it. Harry mentally awarded a point to the Ministry for implementing an obvious precaution.

Reinth had already started climbing by the time Harry finished his inspection and was already a couple of meters high. Mordeau wandered closer to the iced-over water and was seemingly trying to transfigure the rocks into a rope.

Harry moved closer to the wall and swished his wand in a jagged pattern, focused on the picture that he wished to see realised. Namely, a rope ladder that he transfigured from the stone around him, his magic pulling matter out of the ground. That was a neat trick he had read about in a book on applied transfiguration McGonagall recommended him before the whole mess with the Tournament began.

By the time he finished his transfiguration, Reinth has almost got to the top and Mordeau had started climbing. Harry looked his creation over with a critical eye, quickly transfigured a couple of hooks which he affixed to the end of the ladder and banished them upwards with a lazy gesture. He was lucky – the hooks took on the first try. Harry quickly climbed up, ending up on the top a minute faster than the sweating and swearing French champion. Before jumping down on the other side (he verified that the Cushioning charms were applied there as well), he accidentally glanced at the lake (which wasn't covered by the blasted fog that negated visibility over the course) and froze.

Aletha Gramm was _skating on the surface of the lake, _flash-freezing the water in front of her.

She was nearly half-way there, as well.

_That crafty girl. Then again, she's taking a risk: judges can, and likely will, deduct points from her for the lack of showmanship, like they did with Reinth in the First Task._

Harry shrugged, marshalled his courage and jumped down. Half-way down he felt his speed level, then start rapidly decreasing, until he touched the ground with utmost dignity and immediately broke into a run.

Reinth's back was barely visible in the distance, and Harry knew the Slytherin was faster than him. _Still, he really isn't much of a sportsman and is likely tired from climbing the wall like he did. He won't be able to maintain that pace for long. _

Harry slowed down slightly as he saw the other Hogwarts champion grind to a stop and start casting. The teen frowned and cautiously edged ahead. What he saw didn't exactly inspire confidence.

Three fire-crabs were slowly encroaching upon Reinth, and the latter was evidently trying to slow them down even further by turning the ground underneath them to extremely sticky and viscous dirt and sending jets of water on them.

Fire-crabs were rather vicious creatures, native to the island of Fiji, which naturally brimmed with magic. After wizards learned of the island and the rich magical flora and fauna they possessed, they raised Muggle-repelling wards over the numerous magical reserves in the archipelago. The beaches on most islands literally _crawled _with the meter-high red carapace-clad critters that shot flames out of their rear ends when angry, when joyous, when mating, when dying… you get the picture. A nasty temper worsened their reputation even further. They were, naturally, hunted for potion ingredients and their jewel-encrusted shells to the point where they nearly became extinct in the late 19th century, but ICW fortunately saved them from such a fate.

Disregarding currently useless trivia floating in his head, Harry quickly got to business.

Reinth couldn't actually do anything about the crabs – they were much faster than their cumbersome exterior would suggest, occasionally jumping ahead a couple of meters by shooting fire from their exteriors, so he had his hands full with just trying to hold them back. It was up to Harry to take them out.

Their carapaces protected them from nearly all spells except for piercing spells, and after a moment of thought Harry disregarded that method. It would most likely just enrage the crabs, not to mention the fact that outright killing magical creatures was rather bad for his karma when he could just stun them… Then again, carapace…

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched upwards and he took careful aim at the ground just in front and to the right of the closest crab.

"_Bombarda Maxima!_"

It was as if the chitin-clad monstrosity had stumbled upon a mine. A powerful pressure wave lifted it, making it balance for a moment on its hind-legs. Alone, a single pair of thin limbs was unable to support the weight of the massive animal, and the crab collapsed backwards, exposing its vulnerable belly to a follow-up stunner.

"Good idea, Potter! At the count of three, same combination on the others, I take the left one!" Reinth called out, creating a strong gust of wind to push back the remaining two crabs.

"Got it!"

Nearly simultaneously, the crabs were lifted off their feet by magical explosions and quickly stunned. Harry's second crab, unfortunately, wasn't lifted all the way, but Harry's stunner still managed to nail it in the belly.

"Well, shall we continue?" Harry asked, sheathing his wand and cracking the joints in his right arm.

"Indeed," Reinth affirmed and started jogging forward, followed closely by Harry. Soon, they heard the huffing and puffing behind them that signified the fact that the French champion finally caught up to them. Harry glanced aside at Reinth, who appeared completely nonplussed by the fact that they were joined by their direct competition (Harry felt that he and the Slytherin came to an unspoken understanding that they wouldn't sabotage each other. Other champions, however, were fair game).

"Did you see Gramm? She took the short route," Harry supplied, trying to start a conversation.

"Mhm," was the reply.

"Should we be worried?"

"Doubtful. Judges dock points for obvious shortcuts. A lot of points."

"Yeah, no kidding," Harry started to see something coming from the fog up ahead. "By the way, I see something."

"Huh?"

They slowed to a walk right before a strange foggy phenomena that Harry would be hard pressed to describe. It looked like an entrance to a cave the walls of which were woven from thin brownish strands of light, slowly moving in the breeze.

"Why have we stopped? I don't see anything," Reinth asked, his voice completely level.

"You don't? Hm," Harry looked over his spectacles, and the space before him really appeared featureless to the naked eye.

"I have a spell-seeing enchantment on my glasses. There's magic in the air here, it looks like… well, a constantly shifting cave would be the closest description."

"So… we need to pass the cave? I doubt it is just that simple."

"Cave? What cave?" Mordeau finally halted right beside them. Harry quickly told him of his findings.

"I think I might have an idea of what this is," the French champion muttered before casting a familiar to Harry's ocular spell, after which he quietened for a minute, his eyes shifting constantly, regarding the obstacle before him while the Hogwarts champions were also trying to figure out the solution.

Not ten seconds later, he nodded resolutely and walked briskly forwards, right into the invisible cave. After sharing a glance, Harry and Reinth followed him.

The "cave" was constantly changing its shape, so they had to take care not to walk into the walls – and for Reinth, who had not mastered any way to see magic, it meant him grabbing onto Harry and matching his movement.

Other than that, this obstacle seemed easy. Too easy.

Harry's danger-sense was tingling, and he didn't know why. As they were advancing, the walls seemed more solid and grew closer, making the boy feel slightly claustrophobic. He grew tense, started glancing in every direction. Finally, he turned his head around and understood just what the organisers had in mind when they were designing this challenge.

"Run!"

He broke off into a sprint, a healthy amount of fear giving him a boost he desperately needed. He barely heard the sound of Reinth's feet as the older teen followed him as closely as possible, all his attention was kept by the danger behind and the steadily tightening tunnel ahead. The magic around him was almost completely in the visible spectrum now, which helped a bit.

When he finally burst out of the tunnel on the other side, his heart was beating so loudly he could swear he heard the echo. His breath came out in short bursts. But the worst thing was that he knew it wasn't just from the physical exertion.

"What freaked you out, Potter? You completely lost it back there…"

Harry threw a dirty look at Reinth, who just now exited the narrow path.

"The walls were trying to _eat us_. I think my reaction was completely justified."

"Ah, so that was what it was… I didn't have time to look back, and now that I think about it, it might have been for the best. And… where's the Frenchie?"

Harry blinked and looked forward.

Before them stood a large wooden structure that completely obstructed the passage. If Harry was asked to describe it, he would go with "Ugly, boxy, looks like a pile of books, and not a neat one". There was also a large door right in front.

There was no enchantments in sight. Except… Harry smirked slightly.

"After you."

"Who do you take me for, an idiot? You know the mage-sight, so it is more logical for you to go first. Come on, Gryffindors forward!"

"Oh, very well, ruin my fun," the younger teen cautiously approached the door and flicked a couple of charms on the ground before it. The innocent-looking grass suddenly went pitch-black and vanished.

"Nothing harmful," Harry explained at the accusing look, "just a flash-stop charm."

Reinth glanced at the sturdy door and nodded. The flash-stop charm completely halted your forward momentum, which in current circumstances would have stopped a running person and staggered them for a couple of seconds to give the following people a chance to shorten the distance between them.

The duo of temporary allies walked warily into the structure. It was well-lit and rather empty inside. The only thing that attracted attention was a raised dais in the middle, on which four chests stood. One lid was ajar.

"Aletha wasn't here," Harry noted.

"Or Mordeau went missing in that weird tunnel. We'll know soon enough which."

Harry approached the chests and eyed them warily. The first Task instilled in him a deep suspicion regarding innocent-looking containers. Cautiously, he opened the chest closest to him and was rewarded by something blowing up right in his face, throwing him a couple of meters back.

Stunned, he shook off the cobwebs in his head and stared ahead. From the chest, rose a very unlikely figure.

"Hermione?" the teen muttered questioningly. _I seem to have hit my head stronger than I thought._

"You have tried hard, I admit," the figure wearing his friend's face said snootily, stepping out of the chest. She was visibly older than fifteen, though, which boggled Harry's mind and made him question just what kind of apparition was before him. His question, however, was immediately solved by the faux-Hermione's next words. "But it was for naught. You were born mediocre, Harry. That Halloween convinced everyone that you were actually someone remarkable, a hero." She sneered. "However, you and I both know that it isn't true. It is no wonder you will die alone. Even Ron and I had to go live our own lives – you would just slow us down. You were, are, and always will be a completely usual man."

"Not if I have anything to say about this," Harry hissed through his teeth, infuriated tremendously, almost quaking in his boots out of pent-up emotion. "Riddikulus!"

His anger-fuelled spell impacted the boggart with the force of a freight train, wiping its features and turning it into a weird glob of grey wispy matter. Harry blew an explosive breath and staggered closer to the chest, ignoring the low whistle from his side.

"Damn…"

"Not. One. Word."

"As long as you keep silent about what my boggart shows to be, I will do the same," Reinth suggested. Harry nodded silently, bending forwards to take the bronze ring that he was supposed to bring to the finish line.

"I'm going to open it. Get back, will you?"

With the explosion that occurred the moment he opened the lid in mind, Harry hurriedly retreated to the door forward and turned back slightly so that to see what would appear. Reinth bit his lip, summoned a shield and twitched his wand upwards.

The chest exploded with a deafening roar, a column of flame bursting out in a vaguely humanoid shape.

"Riddikulus!" Reinth shouted, pointing his wand at the enraged creature. It stopped for a moment and regarded him quietly, the howl of the fires quietening down to hissing and spitting of a standard bonfire.

"It's not a boggart," the Slytherin noted in a detached voice.

"Then what is it?"

"A fire elemental. Bug out. Slowly. Don't make any sudden moves."

Harry's eyes boggled. Elementals were very, very rare creatures that appeared only nearby a crossing of multiple ley lines, where unstable magic bubbled chaotically and wove itself in strange patterns, giving birth to half-sentient embodiments of various elements. Hogwarts was placed at one of the only places of triple ley intersection in Northern Europe, but its wards stabilised the mana streams and prevented elementals from being born.

Needless to say, elementals were rather powerful: unstable magic that created them bestowed upon them the gift of nearly absolute control over their respective elements and just enough intelligence to make them dangerous.

Harry slowly reached out behind him and grasped the handle. Then, he quietly turned it.

The figure of flame didn't react aside from a weird gesture with its left arm.

Harry opened the door.

The moment he did, however, the elemental blazed and roared, twisting around and throwing a fireball in his direction. Only an instinctive guarding gesture with his left hand saved the teen, as his enchanted glove conjured a shield upon which the tight ball of compressed flame detonated, throwing Harry out of the building with the pure explosive force, shield or not.

He hit the ground hard, rolling a couple of times before the inertia exhausted itself. After a brief struggle to get back on his feet, the staggered young wizard absently repaired his glasses and made a note to himself to think about charming them unbreakable to accompany the sticking, magic-seeing and anti-summoning enchantments already cast on them.

_Where's that fiery arsehole and the Slytherin?_

He slowly advanced (read: stumbled) closer to the building's door despite his better judgement telling him to abandon his competition to his fate and use this opportunity to get ahead. Unfortunately, Harry just couldn't find it in himself to just leave – elementals were _really _dangerous.

Through the wide opening in the wall where the door used to be he could see Reinth occasionally sending jets of water and icy spears at the elemental, which hissed, sputtered and answered with streams of fire that mysteriously never did anything to either the continuously casting Slytherin and the building.

_Of course, the flame-freezing charms. _He finally noticed that all fire the enraged elemental conjured was immediately met by almost invisible spells that for all intents and purposes neutralized it. Harry smirked at the obvious solution and pointed his wand at himself.

"_Ignis Impervo._"

A cool feeling streamed through his extremities, signifying that the fire resistance charm has taken effect. It wasn't as effective as Flame-Freezing, but it would still protect him from the heat, if not from the direct flame.

"_Glasseano. Agua Erupto._"

The first spell sent a huge ball of ice at the advancing creature, bursting through the red haze of superheated air around it with a loud hiss. The second sent a focused, continuous stream of permanently conjured water.

The sudden attack forced the elemental on the defensive as it surrounded itself in the cloak of fire, trying to shield itself. Smart, it was not – Reinth, no longer forced to constantly defend himself with flame-freezers, joined his schoolmate in dousing the magical monster in water.

After no more than ten seconds of continued barrage, the only thing remaining of it was a couple of charred rocks and a lot of soot floating in a small pond on the bottom of the room.

"Phew. That took… a lot out of me," Harry admitted, leaning on the door. "Shall we move on?"

"Yes. Heh. You got a boggart. I pulled an elemental. I don't even want to know what kind of monstrosity they prepared for the last champion to get here."

"Same here," the teen muttered, glancing at the last chest. The chest's metal bindings glinted innocently.

They walked on the trek around the lake with a brisk pace. Harry was frankly wary of what challenge awaited them next. In order to stop a fire elemental, he conjured water. There was a good reason conjuration wasn't studied until the seventh year: power requirements. Granted, water conjuration was generally the easiest, but Harry had to use the permanent spell to damage the flame spirit, so now he was afraid that he had to be as economical as possible in his spell selection.

The unlikely duo suddenly found their way barred. Out of the obscuring fog, a glaring abyss showed itself. A nearly vertical drop with no end in sight – the fog obscured the floor, if it existed at all. The other side was rather far from them: by Harry's estimate, approximately in twenty meters.

"How do we do this, I wonder?" Reinth kneeled on the edge and peered over it curiously. "Do you see anything?"

"No. It's real, not an illusion or anything. I suspect there is something down there to cushion the fall, but I can't be sure with the fog," Harry desperately wished he had already finished his work on the Cloak of Levitation. Alas, right now it was merely a half-finished project. The teen silently swore to finish it by the Third Task as such an advantage could prove invaluable. Like it could right now, for example…

"We need something simple. No fancy moves. I'm at half capacity and I have a sneaking suspicion they saved the big guns for the grand finale."

"Transfigure something to function as a bridge?"

"Too power intensive."

"Well, I don't have any good ideas other than that and simply Banishing/Summoning each other."

"Extremely bad idea, you know as well as I do that those charms and internal organs don't play well together."

About a minute was spent in silent pondering. Harry glanced at the iced waters of the lake and sighed. _I'm really tempted to follow Aletha's example and just skate over the ice or walk over the ice…"_

He paused and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"We're idiots. Levitate a large globe of water over to this side of the abyss, I'll freeze it."

Reinth looked at him like he was mad for a couple of seconds, but then his gaze turned pensive.

"Sure. It can work."

The work on an icy bridge was quickly finished. Made from large bubbles of levitated water and ice that Harry flash-froze, it was also covered with dirt from the shore so as to minimise the chance of slipping. They crossed the abyss without any incident.

The next challenge was a bit more engaging.

"So let me get this straight," Reinth drawled, looking at the swampy area in front of them with three clear paths on the traitorous surface leading into the fog. "The left path is…"

"_It's fraught with danger, yes, but nonetheless it's short;_

_ One should beware the consequence of bloody battles fought. _

_ The gloomy lights in fog's disruptive folds_

_ May lead you on or play with your disjointed thoughts._

_ However, once you've passed three challenges you face_

_ The ash of mirth allows you the advantage in the race_," Harry read, squatting near the large flat stone near the beginning of the left path.

"So, Red Caps, who appear in places where a lot of blood was spilled," the Slytherin summarised, "Hinkypunks and… Marsh Imps? I think that those were the ones who were able to cast something akin to Confundus."

"Yep."

"I don't know what the "ash of mirth" means, though."

"I do."

"You won't share?"

"Nope."

"Very well. Then the first route's for you, I believe."

"Don't worry, I'll wait for you on the other side," Harry smirked.

Reinth blinked.

"You believe that they saved something dangerous for the last," he stated, then clicked his tongue at Harry's nod. "Well, I share your suspicion. What's there on the second stone?"

"Read it yourself," the shorter teen grumbled, standing up. "I'm tired of squatting."

While the Slytherin champion was considering the other paths, Harry was half-heartedly trying to lift the fog that obscured his vision. In truth, he was waiting for Reinth to turn away for a moment. The reference in the verse – "the ash of mirth" – immediately pointed him at the small plant nearby, obviously placed there only recently. The sapling in question obviously belonged to the alihotsy, otherwise called hyena tree, the leaves of which were used in potion-making for their euphoria-inducing effects.

Once Reinth was no longer looking in his direction, a muttered _Accio _gave Harry the needed leaf, which he immediately tucked into his pocket.

"Alright," the other teen finally drawled. "See you on the other side."

Harry nodded and carefully walked forwards, his wand held ready. He didn't lift his head much, ignoring the lights in the fog around him. Hinkypunks were rather easily defeated – the little creatures loved tricking lost people by luring them to the most dangerous parts of the bog they inhabited with the mesmerizing lanterns they carried and various noises – they were masterful mimickers. However, if you didn't pay attention to the lights in the first place, they were harmless.

The real danger on the path he chose was the Marsh Imps.

Crafty and vicious, they were rather skilful in their own brand of magic, which mostly involved water manipulation, misdirection and trickery. In their natural habitat, they were _dangerous. _

The moment Harry heard the characteristic quiet, hissing chuckles, he cast _Protego _and quickened his pace. He knew the shield wouldn't give him absolute protection, but he hoped that it would at least weaken anything they threw at him.

He was mistaken.

One moment he was staring ahead at the faint path in the wetland, the next he blinked himself awake at the edge of the lake. It was most certainly not anywhere near where he needed to be.

Harry growled and looked around, the tip of his wand glowing the off-white of a pressure-based spell. _Where are you, little fuckers?!_

He barely noticed the movement behind a rock to his side when his wand moved on autopilot.

"_Expulso!_"

The small, spindly figure didn't manage anything more than a short squeak before it was sent flying arse over teakettle into the lake.

"_Repello Magna!_"

A wave of overpressure blasted off from Harry in all directions, throwing away a trio of imps that almost reached his back. The teen whirled around with a snarl and brought his wand to bear in a whipping motion, his anger pushing a bit more power into his next spell than was strictly necessary.

"_Glaceo Colligato!_"

The three imps that he knocked down, along with the two others that tried to help them up, were immediately flash-frozen in bricks of ice. Harry nodded in satisfaction and wanted to leave when he felt something sharp piercing his right shoulder, along with a weight of something else hanging on to his neck and his back.

"OUCH, FUCK! YOU LITTLE… DEPULSO!"

The last elf-like creature, evidently luckier than others, was promptly presented with a ticket to the Hogwarts Lake Spa Resort.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch. _Episkey._"

The bloody gash was quickly grown over by new skin.

"Hopefully Pomfrey has something for infections," Harry muttered, testing his shoulder and suppressing a wince at the stinging. "Who knows what that little bugger had on his claws … Now, where to...?"

After ten minutes of swearing and searching, he stumbled upon a gate in a high stone wall. The gate had a Roman number "I" on it. On a closer look, Harry found a strange cup fused to the door right where there usually was a keyhole.

"Ash of mirth, huh? Well, hopefully, this will work…"

The teen carefully put the leaf of the hyena tree into the cup and ignited it with his wand. The wet, thick leaf burned slowly, producing a lot of rather dark smoke, which Harry took care to avoid inhaling, as he believed that facing whatever the organisers saved for the last while rolling on the ground laughing wouldn't be such a good idea.

Once about half of the leaf was burnt, the gate groaned and opened with all suitable drama. Harry quickly stepped out.

And ducked back in, only just avoiding an off-red spell.

"What the hell?!"

"FINALLY!" someone cried. "YOU HAD THE SHORTEST ROUTE, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING?! I NEED SOME HELP HERE!"

Harry risked sneaking a peek and saw Reinth being chased by something that greatly resembled Aragog, but was even bigger and clad in red armour. The heavy chitin obviously slowed the giant spider down quite a bit, so the surprisingly fast Slytherin was able to evade it so far, but the massive monster was able to shrug off anything that was cast on it, and some spells actually ricocheted off it.

"WHAT HAVE YOU TRIED?"

"EVERYTHING! THE BASTARD DOESN'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO STOP AND GLARE AT ME! _REDUCTO!_"

The obviously overpowered spell hit the arachnid right in the face, to no effect other than an annoyed blink of the eight eyes.

"TRIED TYING THE LEGS?"

"FIRST THING I DID!"

Harry tsked. If it was too tough to take down and too strong to restrain, then maybe…

The teen smirked as he recalled the way Ron dealt with his boggart back in third year.

"_Glaceo Grata!_"

Immediately, every square inch of ground in the spider's vicinity was covered with ice, which caused it to immediately smash down, sleeting a couple of feet further on its stomach and start wiggling its appendages in a valiant effort to get up. All in all, the scene was rather comical, especially when Harry added a layer of soap to the ice with a household charm he took a liking to in Flitwick's tutoring sessions.

Harry was surveying his work with a most satisfied look when Reinth approached him.

"Well," the Slytherin eyed the arachnid, which started making motions similar to breaststroke. "This was rather inspired, Potter. Where do you get those ideas?"

"That? Just something I cooked up for an occasion of Malfoy-bashing," Harry answered noncommittally. "Shall we move on before it gets up? We're close to the finish."

The two Hogwarts champions edged around the jerking mass of chitin, which stared at them gloomily, and jogged forward in dispersing fog.

Not a minute later, they appeared at the large platform where the race started.

"AND THE HOGWARTS CHAMPIONS APPEAR AT LAST, FINISHING THE SECOND TASK OF THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT IN ONE HOUR, THREE MINUTES!" Bagman roared, his voice covering the noise of the crowds. "NOW, THE JUDGES WILL CONVENE TO DECIDE THE MARKS!"

Harry swore quietly: if they were just a bit quicker, they would have arrived on time. Blast those imps for misdirecting him. Oh wait, he did…

Once she saw the state of his shoulder, Madam Pomfrey hissed something decidedly uncomplimentary about the organisers of the tournament under her nose, bonked Harry on the head and started to work, still grumbling her dissatisfaction.

"What were you thinking, you Gryffindor, knitting your flesh after receiving a wound with something that was definitely filthy without sterilising the area!"

Harry was rather amused with the way she used the name of his House as a curse.

After she cut open the barely-mended gash, cast some spells that caused an unpleasant tingle, lathered his shoulder with an ointment and wrapped it in a bandage, Harry was finally let go to learn his scores. Reinth, having gotten off with a couple of burns from the elemental, was already outside along with Aletha, who stood there with her arms crossed and a stony expression. After a moment of searching, Harry noticed Mordeau talking to a girl near the stands.

"So, for how long do we have to stand here?" he asked nonchalantly, eyeing Aletha's damp shoes. She answered, not moving her gaze away from the judges' lodge:

"They have decided."

Almost before she finished speaking, Bagman's amplified voice echoed around them:

"THE FIRST TO RETURN WITH HER PRIZE WAS ALETHA GRAMM OF DURMSTRANG, ARRIVING JUST FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER THE START. HOWEVER, AS SHE PREFERRED TO CIRCUMVENT MOST OF THE CHALLENGES, SHE WILL LIKELY FACE SEVERE PENALTIES. NOW, JURY?"

Dumbledore pointed his wand skyward, and out of it shot a long blue ribbon which turned into the number "6". Maxime wasn't as gracious and marked the girl's daring with a five. Karkaroff, predictably, awarded her an eight.

"Who is he kidding?" Aletha muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. Harry snorted.

"You tell us – he's your headmaster."

"Meh. He never lowers himself to actually talking to any one of us who isn't either extremely promising or has connections. I never had either before making it to the third place in the Europe Junior Duelling championship," she smirked slightly, but the smirk never reached her eyes. "Karkaroff tried to make some inroads afterwards, but I never answered with anything more than a polite dismissal."

"Was it just pride talking or do you just hate such people?" Harry inquired while Bagman was dealing with his parched throat.

"Both."

"THE SECOND TO FINISH WAS THE BEAUXBATONS CHAMPION, JEAN MORDEAU! HE FINISHED ALL TASKS FLAWLESSLY, ALBEIT WITHOUT DEMONSTRATING ANY EXTRAORDINARY TALENT. JUDGES?"

Maxime and Dumbledore awarded Mordeau an eight each, while Karkaroff coughed up a meagre six.

"How _did _you arrive first?" Reinth asked as Mordeau returned to stand with the other competitors. A grin was his answer.

"I'm very good at jogging."

"FINALLY, MARK REINTH AND HARRY POTTER DECIDED TO TEAM UP FOR MOST OF THE CHALLENGES AND DESPITE THIS FACT FINISHED LAST AND WENT OVER THE ALLOTED TIME LIMIT. STILL, THEY DEMONSTRATED THEIR CLEAR SKILL IN THINKING UNDER PRESSURE AS WELL AS THEIR KNOWLEDGE. HOW WOULD JURY GRADE MR. REINTH?"

Two "7" and a six.

"That's a bit harsh," Harry commented at his fellow champion's wince.

"Nah. I mostly just was there as a bait and dumb muscle, to be honest. It's rather humiliating."

_In retrospective, yes._

"Don't worry, you'll have your chance to shine at the third task."

"HARRY POTTER?"

A nine shot out of Dumbledore's wand.

"That's… a bit too much. An eight, I could understand. Nine?"

Maxime granted him a seven.

"Eh, as well as could be hoped for."

The goateed headmaster of Durmstrang awarded him… a four.

"Wait a bloody second! That's just… damn."

Twenty points. That plus twenty four from the First task netted him second place overall. Not bad.

"Now, gentlemen, lady; what do you think of eating together?" Harry suggested cheerfully. "Hogwarts' kitchens are rarely visited, so we wouldn't be interrupted, and the elves will serve just about anything you ask – I checked."

Reinth shrugged indifferently.

"Sure, works for me."

Aletha and Jean also nodded their agreement.

"Anything, hmm? I wonder what they know of French cuisine that they haven't demonstrated so far…"


	20. Hopelessly FUBAR

Chapter 20

Hopelessly FUBAR

_Journal, 20__th__ March_

_ One month remaining until the next task. Blast. _

_ Life goes on as usual, which means it is full of surprising things that defy any explanation. Just today, a Hufflepuff actually smiled at me! A Hufflepuff! Hell has probably just become a ski resort. Ever since Susan and I broke it off, any support from that house evaporated like conjured rum. On a completely unrelated note, Seamus has completely given up on his attempts of creating booze via transfiguration of any kind and is seriously looking into the distillation process and how it can be altered or replaced by magic. Snape suspects something, I reckon – he started eyeing Seamus weirdly soon after the latter's sudden jump in potion-making competence. _

_ I went off on a tangent there, didn't I?_

_ I'm not nearly as nervous as I was before the previous Tasks. I must be becoming desensitised to this whole business of risking my life for no good reason. Anyway, I'm usually too pissed off at the world as a whole to be scared – I literally can't go from one class to another without someone spewing obscenities behind my back. I took to travelling in secret passages, and this rather mitigates the headaches, but I'm still angry at them all. And just a tiny bit depressed, to be honest. I try to follow Luna's advice and be more tolerant and empathic and crap, but it's difficult to be understanding when all I get when I walk through a corridor is glares. The other champions, fortunately, are on my side in this, more or less – and wasn't that a pleasant surprise. I greatly suspect Reinth is only nice to me to get me to lower my guard for his inevitable double-cross in the final Task – he needs the victory more than any of the others, me included. He's a half-blood in Slytherin, a really precocious position if the grapevine is to be believed, so he needs all the prestige he can milk from this mess, therefore it's certain he will go all out in the finals. I will need to watch my back._

_ Bah. On to better news._

_ My design for a flying robe, which I christened The Cloak of Awesomeness, is progressing really well. I got it to stay relatively still while hovering (the billowing effect is there, but I believe it only adds to the coolness factor, might even fiddle with it sometime in the future) and the sticking/load bearing matrixes work really well. The only thing that I haven't completely finalised yet is the actual propulsion. The concept itself is sound: floating via gathering and repelling the air around me downwards and behind me. Unfortunately, momentum transference is being uncooperative, and instead of lifting off, I just look like I ate the twins' flatulence inducing cookies. In massive quantities. Hermione told me she'd stumbled on something that might help, but she hadn't shown me yet. I haven't worked on steering yet – I need to deal with the present issues first, methinks. _

_ Sirius wrote me a couple of times, told me that Remus is tracking the rat. So far, he found some evidence that he's in the north of France, hiding in the wilderness. The dreams I've been having recently are very hazy and are of no help. I wonder what's causing them… In any case, all our attempts to figure out this plot has met no success. Why get me in the Tournament? To discreetly off me and blame the organisation? Probable, but this is way too complicated a plan for it to come down to just that. I mean, they could just wait for the summer holidays and send an assassin. I don't have much faith in Dumbledore's wards, and even if they work, there's no reason they would function outside of the damned house. So everything Voldemort has to do is wait for me to leave for a walk and AK me in the back._

_ Damn. I need to address that somehow._

_ Still, the next task will likely be the point where Voldemort makes his move, so I have to give it all I've got. The main goal: survive._

**19****th**** April - The Third Task, Forbidden Forest**

Harry and the other champions gazed upon the hill before them with varying degrees of wariness. Said hill had only one entrance in the front, which was dark enough so that nothing could be seen of its contents.

"Ten galleons say it's a treasure hunt," Aletha Gramm, the Durmstrang champion, drawled, tapping her boot on the ground. The metallic regular clang with which the front of the sole hit the stone underneath counted the seconds with unerring precision.

"Sucker's bet," Reinth told her, his completely blank face conflicting with the subtle twitches of his wand hand.

"Yep. It was rather obvious that the circles we had to retrieve in the last tasks were parts of something akin to three-dimensional compass," Harry eyed the two bronze pieces in his hands contemplatively. "So it was either looking for something underground or diving in the lake – not that pleasant a perspective, I assure you."

"Oh, believe me, I know," Aletha winced. "In the last task, I got into a fight with a sea serpent and fell though the ice for a minute."

"Where did they get the serpent?" Harry boggled at her. The girl did not mention this when they hanged out, and she never hesitated in boasting about her previous misadventures. Others openly doubted those were true, but Harry never said a word. By the beginning of April, they spent nearly every dinner together, down in the kitchens. They never talked about the tournament, but everything else they mentioned, discussed and/or argued over at least once.

"In the Pacific Ocean, I'd expect," she muttered sardonically. "The special gift for those who decided to be smart and skate on the lake instead of fighting their way though on the shores."

"Ouch. How was the water?"

"Bite me," she muttered, hitting him in the shoulder playfully.

He was still chuckling when Bagman approached the group.

"All right-o, the Final Task! Now, as I'm sure you have already figured out, the goal is to find the replica of the Goblet of Fire in the maze of underground tunnels!" he began in his usual kick-me cheerful manner, taking four nail-like objects out of his pockets and offering them to the teens. "These are the figurative arrows for Dwarven compasses, the parts of which you have with you from the previous tasks. Look for yourself…"

With a frown, Harry started fiddling with the three pieces in his possession. Immediately after the three parts touched each other, the whole construct jumped out of his hands and hovered in the air before him.

The two circles formed two perpendicular planes, the small indentions on the outer sides facing one direction – North, Harry theorised – and the arrow just floating in the centre and pointing in the vague direction somewhere underneath the hill.

"Neat," he muttered in approval. "I can see that these can come in handy underground."

"Now, Mr Mordeau has the most points out of all of you, so he will enter the tunnels first. After a minute, Mr Potter will follow him. In another minute, Ms Gramm will enter, leaving Mr Reinth for the last. With me so far?" At their nods he continued. "In this task, you are allowed to fight between yourself, but do take care to avoid any maiming, and Merlin help you if you kill each other. Immediate disqualification. Am I clear on this point?"

"Yes."

"Good. Final note: the Goblet is a portkey that will bring the first to touch it up here. Now, prepare yourselves, and good luck!"

Bagman quickly walked off in the direction of the stands.

Harry slowly breathed in, beating down the sudden spike of nervousness. _I'm as prepared as I'm ever going to be and I know what I'm doing. Everything's going to be fine. _A reluctant half-smirk crept on his face. _Well, no, it's going go to hell in a hand basket, but I'll survive._

He distractedly listened to Bagman's speech and the outline of the rules, hastily going through the spells he learned in the past months in his head when the French champion entered the maze.

"MR POTTER, START!"

He gulped, pulled his enchanted glove on tight, and stepped forwards. The darkness of the tunnel swallowed the teen.

A few minutes later, he found that he utterly _hated _whoever designed the tunnel system. Despite the Dwarven compass, it was near impossible to navigate. The oppressive darkness, persisting despite his _Lumos_ did not help matters a bit. The magical blue smokeless torches he came upon with rising frequency as he made his way deeper into the maze were more effective.

Finally, there was the bone-chilling scream he heard a moment ago. While Harry was wary before, now he was very much on edge, creeping forwards slowly and with his wand held ready.

It was actually the slowness of his movement that saved him from a pit trap he encountered soon thereafter – he managed to gracelessly stumble backwards when the ground he stepped on rumbled and collapsed. After a moment spent contemplating his mortality and a couple of quiet, heartfelt oaths he used the same spell that saved him from the manticore in the first task to glide above the pit – after verifying that there was enough space on the other side for him to decelerate without turning into a modernist masterpiece on the wall. Thus defeating the first obstacle, he continued onwards, still wary, but a bit more reassured.

His illusions of this being an easy walk were shattered when behind the next turn he found himself face-to-snout with a wyvern. While on the smaller side for a draconid – not much taller than Harry, actually – the wyvern still could bite him in half. A prospect that didn't enthuse the teen wizard in the slightest.

As soon as Harry rounded the corner and recoiled from the sudden increase in number of dangerous creatures in his field of vision, said creature hissed and gathered onto itself in a manner of a cat preparing to jump onto its prey. Immediately, Harry responded in a reflex of many, many training sessions with Flitwick (he honestly could not find it in himself to call _those _duels).

"_Lumos Maxima! Incarcero! Incarcero!_"

Staggering back with a startled roar and blinking from the sudden assault on its extremely sensitive vision, the large reptile was in no frame of mind to dodge the thick ropes that bound its jaws and its hind legs. Following the combination with heavily overpowered _Impedimenta_, Harry made himself scarce, hurrying to put the dangerous opponent behind him. Wyvern skin wasn't as magically resistant as dragon skin, but it was still difficult to get them out of a fight for a prolonged period without resorting to extreme measures.

Soon, he stumbled upon a crossroads and tried figuring out which path he should take. Unfortunately, his deliberation was interrupted by a rumbling sound that he had come to expect accompanied a collapse. Hastily deciding on the left path, he ran.

In a couple of minutes, the narrow tunnel led him into a large cavern with an underground lake. In the lake, there were a few dozen thick poles, large enough to support a person. On every pole, there was a symbol, each looking like it was scratched into the wood by a sharp blade in wide slashes. Harry could see that there was a path forward on the other side.

"A puzzle? More Hermione's forte than mine, but alright. Now, where did they put the instructions? Ah, here you are…"

Harry quickly established from a multitude of symbols on the wall that his task was, obviously, to jump across the lake on the poles with the correct runes. The next rune he'd need to jump on could be guessed from the rune he was standing on, as the correct sequence had them increasing and decreasing in the number of slashes in a certain pattern.

"I don't… know… whether… to be… relieved… or insulted," Harry muttered while jumping from pole to pole with only a second's pause each time to calculate his next jump. "It seems… too primitive… for supposed… champions… but probably… looked smart… for the WHOA!"

He stumbled for a moment, righting himself on the slippery surface.

"Yeah, just the moment to get cocky, stupid, stupid. Now, what was the last symbol?..." he blinked in surprise and sighed. "Blast…"

Bending to look at the side of the pole while balancing precociously on it was more difficult that it ought to be, considering Harry's long practice in similar activities. Still, very soon he hopped off the last pole onto the solid ground and hurried on without a backwards glance.

Not fifteen paces later, he found himself on crossroads, lit by four torches on the walls between the exits. Glancing at the compass, he determined that he should take the tunnel directly opposite the one he came from. However, before he could move forwards, he heard the sounds of spellfire from one of the side tunnels along with the steps of someone running towards him. Mouthing a foul curse, he ducked back into the shadow and cast the Notice-Me-Not. The charm was much less effective on wizards than muggles, but it would hopefully be enough for his competition to not pick him out in the dark.

Three seconds after he hid himself, the running figure of Mordeau came into sight from the right tunnel as he literally leapt over a curse, twisted in the air to send a spell back and seamlessly landed to continue running. Harry gulped – even if the French champion's spell missed the intended target, it was still a very impressive display of duelling prowess, as well as near-precognition level reflexes. The aforementioned target, Aletha, didn't show any extraordinary feats as she passed him in a brisk walk, preferring to send a rather astounding volume of curses at her opponent. From what Harry could see, so far Mordeau kept dodging or shielding the spells, but his luck could run out any moment.

As soon as the fighters passed him, Harry relit his wand and scrambled to vanish into the tunnel ahead. After nearly a minute of sneaking and a couple of turns his hammering heart slowed, just in time for him to stumble across a new challenge.

He beheld with slight befuddlement a large-ish cavern filled with a couple of dozens of levitating cubes covered with different glowing etchings. The far side of the room had a metal gate, evidently sealed until whatever puzzle he saw before him was solved.

"This could take a while…"

** Filch's office**

The unconscious caretaker, sickly thin and looking half-dead from malnutrition, was levitated into a drawer and closed there. Another caretaker, identical to the one being locked away, but well-dressed and obviously healthy, nodded in satisfaction and exited the room, carefully hiding his wand inside the holster within his right sleeve.

He walked the halls in quick, but confident strides, drastically different from Filch's usual slow and shuffling walk. He exited the school out of the front doors and stepped on the road to the main gates.

The man who pretended to be Filch turned around for a moment and checked his pockets thoughtfully, as if to ensure that he didn't forget anything important.

The dull roar of the crowds from the Forest told him that the final Task was well underway, as planned. The portkey was in place and Wormtail would take care of the other champions. The little snivelling rat was surprisingly adept when it came to traps of any kind. He was competent enough to stun a couple of children from behind.

With a satisfied nod, he swished his robe around himself and quickly made his exit.

His Lord awaited.

Harry didn't manage a dozen steps out of the chamber the puzzle of which he just solved before being assaulted from the side. He had only a second's forewarning before the spell was upon him, and only managed to slightly lean forwards, evading the brunt of the impact. Still, the banisher grazed his shoulder, and he crashed into the wall.

Upon hitting the ground, the teen immediately lifted his left arm in a guarding gesture, activating his enchanted glove. The honey-coloured shield sprung up just in time to protect him from a follow-up stunner.

Harry looked up. _Reinth. _The Slytherin paused a bit in his casting when he though he'd got Harry, and his pale face was clearly seen in the light of the magical torches.

Harry counterattacked with a _Lumos Maxima_, but somehow, the other champion knew to expect it and shielded his eyes in time to protect himself. Swatting aside Harry's Tripping Hex with a quick shield of his own, he fired off another stunner.

The two teens engaged in a furious duel. Both knew not to underestimate each other – Harry was far more experienced and had a lot of tricks up his sleeves due to Flitwick's tutoring sessions, but Reinth was a seventh-year, with all the accumulated magical power and knowledge that it suggested.

They would cautiously probe the opponent's defences and shield themselves while waiting for a window of opportunity to strike a decisive blow.

The first one to make a mistake was actually Harry: he tried to use a _Malo Zemletro – _a faux-earthquake illusionary spell. It was a rather tricky thing to cast, requiring precision that Harry was only capable of when speaking the incantation aloud. Reinth immediately took advantage of Harry's momentary distraction and Depulsed him.

The wave of force picked Harry up and dragged him a couple of meters, carrying him further down the corridor, right into the next chamber. Shaking his head, he scrambled to take cover, only peripherally registering that this new chamber had stone walls, floor and ceiling. The only details he really took note of were the columns that went all the length of the room and the rock table in the middle, upon which stood the Triwizard Cup.

He immediately scrambled for cover behind the closest column, dodging a red spell by a hair's breadth. He put up a shield to protect himself from any explosion charms Reinth was evidently very fond of and thought on a furious pace, looking over the chamber and trying to come up with a plan to get to the Goblet.

A threatening growl was his only warning before a large brownish dog threw itself on him. He barely managed to twist aside from the teeth, bringing his wand to bear in order to dispose of the transfigured nuisance when yet _another _Depulso threw him away.

He hit the ground with a roll, bruising his shoulder with a sharp stone. He was saved from the follow-up Impediment jinx by his experience of fighting Flitwick, who was very insistent in teaching him the value of not lying still when knocked down. Returning fire blindly with a couple of Expulso's of his own, he stood up and suddenly realized that he was barely a meter from the Goblet.

And so was Reinth.

The Slytherin evidently never stopped advancing. He was running towards the Goblet, a shimmering shield around him and the transfigured dog following in his footsteps.

Harry jumped.

In the brief moments before they both reached the Goblet at the same time, Harry barely managed a single thought:

_I wonder if they will give the win to Hogwarts as a whole._

Then their hands touched the goblet, and in a flash, they were gone.

The first thing Harry saw upon landing was grass. The second and third things were grass as well, considering the fact that he landed head-first and was slightly stunned by the introduction his face made to the ground he laid upon.

With a groan, he slowly lifted himself and cast a confused glance around. Reinth was right next to him, rising as well.

"Where the _fuck _are we?" the Slytherin muttered questioningly, looking around with a complete lack of comprehension. _Must have face-planted as well._

"I have no idea, except that this seems to be a cemetery of some kind."

"Did the Portkey misfire or something? We were supposed to appear next to the entrance to the tunnel."

"Portkeys do _not _misfire. They can, however, be tampered with," Harry mentioned, bending to take his wand off the ground.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

Harry froze, nearly paralysed by a sudden, violent spike of pain in his scar.

In that moment, while his body was bent and grasping the wand on the ground like the lifeline it was, a whirlwind of thoughts flashed in his mind.

_That voice._

_That spell._

_That June night in 1992._

_That mind-rending ache in his head as the spectre of his greatest enemy rent his mind apart, trying to destroy him on a level beyond physical death._

_That night that changed him._

He violently jumped to the side, reflexively holding out his wand before him like a shield, nearly all coherent thought gone, banished by the mortal terror and the pounding behind his forehead.

Even if he was fully functional, he wouldn't be able to do anything about the deathly green spell as it already reached its intended target.

Reinth.

Fortunately, Harry couldn't see Reinth's face in that moment, but as it was, that final moment would long plague his dreams. The Slytherin's figure standing completely still, lit by a corona of green light for a brief moment, then collapsing like a marionette with cut strings.

Harry followed the fall with uncomprehending eyes, almost missing the commentary in that soft, high, almost absent-sounding voice:

"Pity. The child had some potential."

The teen's head whipped towards the speaker. He recognised the figure: the characteristic handsome features of Tom Riddle were hard to forget or mistake for anyone else, even if the person before him looked to be in his late thirties. The malevolent red eyes were also a dead give-away.

"Voldemort," he acknowledged in a quiet voice, marshalling all his prowess in the beginning stages of Occlumency to control his body and calm his mind. Or try, at least.

"Potter," came the answer.

The Dark Lord was thoughtfully regarding the young wizard before him, his head bent to the side.

"It has been three years, Harry Potter. You have changed quite a lot since I last saw you."

Harry frowned slightly, choosing to stay silent as his eyes remained carefully pointed at the man's chin. He had a hunch that if the Dark Lord knew of the ability to read others' minds, he would surely master it. And as wizard of highest calibre Voldemort most assuredly knew.

There was another detail that he noticed in his enemy's figure, and that gave him some hope that he would be able to survive past next few hours.

"Now, you must wonder why exactly I went to such trouble to bring you here before me," Voldemort continued, softly caressing the length of his wand.

"Not really," Harry deigned to interrupt. "I can name two reasons: you either wish to kill me or want to use me somehow to completely resurrect yourself."

"Perceptive," the man muttered, fully coming out of the shadow. In the pale lighting, it was obvious that he was partially transparent. "You are correct on one count. However, it still stands undecided whether you are right on the other."

_Is he saying what I think he's saying?_

Harry's wand lowered a bit.

"Still, we will have time to return to this later. The first item on the agenda is, as you have guessed, my complete return to the land of the living. And for that, I will need something of yours."

"Dare I guess?" the teen muttered, watching the figure of the Dark Lord cautiously for any sign of aggression. His headache lowered to dull throbbing, which somewhat reassured him of his chances to survive the next ten minutes. "What is it? Blood? Flesh? My soul?"

A dry chuckle was the only answer he got. Well, that and a binding curse that came so quickly he didn't have time to even blink before he was securely tied in conjured ropes.

"What the…"

Suddenly, he found himself being levitated towards the closest gravestone. Voldemort unceremoniously plopped him against the hard surface and approached him. With every step he made, the ache in Harry's scar sharpened and intensified. When the not-quite-corporeal figure was at arm's reach, the teen's head felt like it was going to explode like overripe melon.

If the young wizard wasn't in so much pain that his vision blurred, he would have seen the contemplative expression cross the other's face for a short while. Still, his headache suddenly was showed to the side when he felt his arm being slit. He looked down to see a silver knife floating in the air near his right hand, which was bleeding profusely.

The blood was collected inside a small glass vial (also held in the invisible grasp of kinesis) which was then stoppered and put on the closest gravestone along with the knife.

"Well, now that this is dealt with," Voldemort spoke in a calm and almost detached manner, "We come to the question of your life."

Harry's mind immediately conjured about eight scenarios of the following events, none of them pretty.

"But before that, I think you need to know why I came to your house that night fifteen years ago."

His brains stopped showing additional predictions and stuttered to a stop.

"There was a prophecy, you see," Dark Lord's tone bordered on whimsical as he polished his wand with the edge of his left (still not-quite-corporeal) sleeve. "About you and me. _The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._" He snorted.

"Of course, I never believed in prophecies. Divination is far, far too uncertain and inconclusive for me to put much stock in anything to do with this particular branch of magic, scrying aside. Still, I decided to be on guard, nevertheless, and watch out for magical children born in the end of July. Imagine my surprise when you were born to people who had successfully eluded my wrath three times before."

"To kill you and your parents was simply a two-for-one opportunity: the removal of a couple of particularly talented opponents plus a potential, though vague, threat."

"Is this the point where you say that it was nothing personal? If so, it is rather cliché of you," Harry said blandly.

Instead of answering, Voldemort chuckled and sat on the nearest gravestone.

"It is, isn't it? One thing you seemingly haven't figured out so far, Harry, is that clichés are incredibly attractive to human mind. However, this is neither here or there. What is relevant here is the fact that you are a young wizard with a lot of potential. You will not reach it by remaining in Hogwarts."

"Why not?"

At this point, Harry already had a plan to escape, but he needed Voldemort distracted, and above all, he needed to play for time.

"I have seen the latest papers. They are vilifying you. How long do you think it will take for the public to start crying for your head? Dumbledore will not be able to shield you for long. One day, they will come for you."

"What is it to you? You obviously want to recruit me. Why?"

"I do not want to recruit you, necessarily. There's far too much history between us for that to be a feasible option. But I want you out of my way and I need Harry Potter to die at my hands."

Said teen blinked. After a moment, he got it.

"You need the sole blemish on your record removed."

"Precisely. And what better way to do this than publically killing said blemish? It is up to you whether your death be real or not."

"And if I choose the latter?"

"I offer you to vanish. Leave this country, preferably. I will, of course, require a binding oath from you that will prevent you from harming me or my assets and keep your true identity secret to the best of your ability, but otherwise – you will be free to go."

Harry was quiet.

"I see you need some time to think things through. Very well, I will leave you to it for now."

Voldemort snapped his left hand up, and in a couple of seconds, Harry's own wand flew into his grasp. The Dark Lord carefully collected the vial of blood and strode purposely away.

As he left the sight, Harry carefully looked around. When he didn't see anyone watching, he smirked and put the fingers of his left hand in a specific sign, activating the enchantment on his left glove.

At this moment, he was extremely glad that he has put an additional spell into his glove, doubly glad that this spell was _Diffindo _and damn near ecstatic that Voldemort didn't bother tying him with his hands behind.

With a sharp snap, the ropes binding him were cut and he stepped from the circle of rapidly disintegrating conjurations.

_Alright-o, I'm free, what now?_

Before he could put more than three seconds in planning for his escape, he suddenly heard hissing from behind him.

"_You will not essscape, youngling._"

_Craaap._

On that thought, he was hit in the back and pushed to the ground by something large, heavy, and definitely aiming to restrain him. He didn't see anything with his face planted into the ground, but logic told him that it was a really big snake.

"_You thought my masssster didn't take precautionsss?_" hissed a malevolent voice near his ear.

"_No…. just that he didn't account for my bag of tricks!_" Harry spat back and activated a specific runic array on his sleeve.

Thirty meters away, Voldemort was distracted from final preparations for his ritual by screams of his familiar, accompanied by loud swearing of a certain young wizard. And constant loud whooshing of the wind from that general direction.

More than slightly irritated and a touch intrigued, he hurried to investigate.

What he saw was a bit surreal even to him regardless of his vast experience with all kinds of strange situations.

Harry was somehow floating around the cemetery, flying at dangerous speeds amongst the tombstones. His cloak billowing unnaturally, as if wind was flowing from between the flaps. Nagini wrapped around him and held on for dear life, obviously scared out of her mind and near howling in distress, while the teen himself was trying to steer his flight but having only enough success to stay clear from various debree.

With great bemusement and a bit of scientific curiosity, the Dark Lord watched as his snake was finally hit on her head as Harry made a rather daring turn, making her go slack and fall off. Unburdened, Harry immediately rose to a greater height and made for the forest with all due haste.

Voldemort pinched his nose and walked over to Nagini.

"_Are you injured?_"

"_No, Master. Forgive me, I have failed._"

"_Nonsense. He is even more crafty than I was led to believe. I do not blame you. Besides, I expected him to break free and have had multiple contingencies set up just for this situation._"

A loud pop from near the duo signified the arrival of another person via Apparition. A young man showed up, wearing robes that seemed a bit short for him. He looked around, noticed the other wizard with his snake, and hurried over to them. He kneeled before the former.

"My Lord, I come as commanded. Wormtail will follow within an hour."

"Good. Come, I will require your assistance in the ritual."

"My Lord? May I ask… where is the boy?"

"Hm? Oh, he escaped just a minute ago."

"But… will he not lead people here?"

"Almost certainly, but we will be long gone by then. The ritual is quick, and I have crafted some wards that will prevent access to this place just in case."

"My Lord, have you extracted the oath you have thought of?"

"No, but him accepting it today was a long-shot in any case. After the ritual, tell Lucius to make sure the contingencies proceed as planned."

"As you will, my Lord."

At the same moment, approximately a kilometre away an innocent squirrel was scared half to death by a low-flying wizard who blew past it at a break-neck speed.

It must be noted that said wizard was also scared nearly to the point of hysterics and emitted short, high-pitched keening noises each time he came into close proximity of another tree. Seeing that he was flying in a forest, that made for something akin to 8-bit beatboxing.

Finally, after a wild 10-minute long slalom he noticed that he had just passed a road. Immediately, he touched the rune which was the rough equivalent of an "off" switch and landed in a heap.

Swearing up and down at his own lack of foresight to develop some means of smooth landing (and speed regulation!) he limped back to the road. It was completely empty, and it was obvious that if he decided to wait here, chances were Voldemort would find him sooner than someone else arrives.

Harry furrowed his brow and started pacing in thought. He could, possibly, reach civilization by flying near the road in somewhat acceptable timeframe. His wand was not with him, and he did not have any Muggle currency on him. He always kept some Galleons in his pockets, though, so he could pay for magical transportation, such as the Knight Bus. Though he didn't have the wand with which to summon the unholy contraption… Wait.

Harry glanced at his left hand. Specifically, the glove on it. It was an enchanted object that he channelled magic through, which made it a focus, which made it possible to use to summon the bus. It theory.

Biting his lip, Harry raised his left arm up, channelling some power into the glove, and sharply dropped it.

Nothing followed.

With a sigh, Harry turned away from the road and pondered which direction would lead him to a settlement quicker. However, not three seconds later he was badly startled by a loud BANG that usually signified the arrival of the Knight Bus.

He whirled around – and there it was. The door opened and the familiar face of Stan Shunpike showed itself out.

"Blimey. Ernie, it's Harry Potter! What are you doing here?"

"Portkey glitch," Harry lied and entered the bus. "I need to get to Hogwarts."

"Sure thing. That would be the third stop, methinks. Punch it, Ern!"

Harry paced near the Hogwarts gates, waiting for someone to come and get him. He was exhausted – mentally and physically, and at this point could not care less who won the tournament. All that he wanted at this point was to tell Dumbledore what happened, drop on his bed and sleep for a day.

He had to wait for a good while. Finally, half an hour later, Hagrid showed up and escorted him to the stands in the Forbidden Forest. Everybody was still there, it seemed. When the crowds noticed him, the ever-present hum of dozens of conversations raised into a dull roar.

He was ushered into the judges' tent. Immediately upon entering, he noticed the presence of not only the heads of all three schools, but Umbridge with the rest of the Ministry delegation, including Fudge.

"Oh, this will not be good," he whispered to himself.

It wasn't.

The next hour-and-a-half were spent arguing – about his supposed insanity, attention-seeking tendencies, anarchistic outlook, murderous intentions and so on, and so on. His story was not believed by the Ministry in the slightest, as Fudge sputtered denials and accusations while Umbridge, smelling blood in the water, fanned the fires as best as she could. Dumbledore immediately believed Harry and calmly and rationally tried to dismantle the others' arguments. Karkaroff was extremely pale and kept silent, occasionally rubbing his left arm unconsciously. Maxime was seemingly of the opinion that everyone in the tent besides herself was mad and was waiting for the insanity to cease before contributing anything to the discussion.

Harry's voice was almost completely hoarse from the shouting by the time a couple of Aurors entered the tent.

"Minister, we have found the cemetery in question," the tallest announced. "We found Mr. Reinth's body. And this."

He fished a wand out of his pocket. A very familiar wand.

_That… could be trouble. _

"Priori Incantatem shows the Killing Curse as the last spell," the Auror continued gravelly.

"What?!"

"Well, that settles it. Arrest Mr. Potter," Fudge said briskly, a satisfied look on his face.

_What… what?!_

The sinking feeling he'd felt since five minutes ago grew to a crescendo. He was one inch away from outright panic.

"You can't do that!"

"I am the Minister of Magic, Mr. Potter," was the smug answer as the Aurors escorted him out of the tent at wandpoint. Harry whirled around to look at the judges who filed out of the tent behind him. Dumbledore's troubled expression didn't reassure him.

In the background, Hogwarts, his home, shined for him, like a star in the night, for the last time.

The whirlwind of colours took him away.

Hermione Jane Granger was - usually - a calm, rational person. Many students knew her as a bookworm to shame any Ravenclaw and a mostly unemotional wallflower that accompanied Potter and Weasley. The residents of the Gryffindor tower would disagree with the "unemotional wallflower" part rather emphatically, exceedinly familiar with the firce arguements she was so prone to having with anyone who disagreed with her on any significant issue. Granted, she mellowed out massively in the later years, but she still was a very emotion-driven person.

Right now, though, no one who saw her would be able to call her "calm".

It was the 8th May - two and a half weeks since the Third Task. She was currently wearing a hole in the floor of the unused classroom she and Harry commandeered for their use while they worked to create a flesh golem. Said golem - nicknamed Frankie Moonshine for its swaying walk - was standing in the corner, occasionally wobbling in one direction or another. As he was shaped in the image of his creator, it seemed as if it was a drunk Harry standing there.

There were transfigured portraits of Fudge and Umbridge on the wall, both bearing evidence of repeatedly falling victim to sharp thrown objects (read: a pincushion would wince at the sheer amount of holes in them). The Minister's portrait also had some bird droppings on the frame, while Umbridge's frame was decorated with a multitude of creative insults.

The tables in the classroom were decorated with sketches of the Ministry of Magic officials being strangled, eaten and buried alive by various species of magical flora. All of them were charmed to move just like magical photographs.

Other occupants of the room included Ron, Neville and Luna. The redhead was throwing darts into portraits with a pensive expression on his face, trying to hit the Minister in the eyes, but the bowler-hatted politician was rather skilled in dodging by this point and deftly evaded every projectile. Neville was chewing on some sort of purple leaf and gazing at the just finished drawing of Umbridge being impaled by the poisonous darts of Arizona Killer Cactus, aka_ Ferrocactus Carnivorae Malificus_. Luna was leaning on a wall near the golem and periodically poking at it, causing the aforementioned wobbling.

After watching the sketch of Umbridge die a horrible death in the fifth time that day, Neville leaned back in the seat and continued the ongoing discussion.

"I have sent an owl to Gran. She's a member of the Wizengamot, she can speak on his behalf."

"I have looked through the legislation. We need more than a half of the votes. It won't be enough," Hermione said depressedly, turning sharply on her heel and marching across the room.

"When we go on our hunting trips, Daddy always tells me: Luna, to catch a Nurgle you need to think like a free Nurgle," the Ravenclaw said suddenly, looking away from the unresponsive golem.

The Gryffindors shared a glance. Usually, Neville was the most adept out of them in translating Luna-speak to English, but this time Ron spoke first.

"We have to plan for the worst. In addition to hoping everything ends well, we should cook up something to break Harry out just in case."

"But Azkaban is nearly impregnable!" Hermione protested, waving her arms in the air. "Harry isn't an animagus, so he won't be able to just waltz out!"

Ron smirked. That smirk had no business being on the face of a Weasley.

"Then I suggest we don't try to crack an impregnable fortress," Ron shrugged. "If we disregard the obvious option of sneaking him off a Dementor-infested island we are left with two variants: getting him out of the DMLE holding cells or snatching him en route to the... prison."

It should be noted that despite his lack of incredible studiousness or an aptitude for fantastic leaps of thought, Ron was nearly as intelligent as his two best friends were. His intelligence just showed itself in ways that were usually less noticeable.

"The most important thing that we need is information. I will ask Tonks about the DMLE and their procedures - she likes Harry, hopefully she'll help us. In case she doesn't, Hermione, you should hit the library – look for anything regarding DMLE behaviour in these situations. Neville, I suggest you continue to work with your grandmother and try to get Harry out of this legally. All right?" He finished his spirited string of orders and blinked in slight surprise at himself.

Hermione stared at him.

"Works with me," Neville shrugged.

"Yes," Hermione woke up, "I think I saw a couple of Auror memoirs in the library. It should be useful..."

The trio left the classroom, engrossed in their discussion. After the door was closed, the completely forgotten Luna uttered in a surprised tone:

"But I meant something different..."

**Meanwhile, in a Ministry holding cell.**

It wouldn't be so bad if he had something to do or anyone to talk to – anything to pass the time.

Days came and went. The only people allowed to see him were the Aurors that gave him his meagre meals - enough to live, but utterly tasteless. To be honest, it was somewhat better than what the Dursleys gave him.

The cupboard was also much more cramped. His cell contained only a cot and a bucket charmed to vanish waste. It wasn't designed for people living there for long periods of time.

Nevertheless, Harry had been there for nearly a month. A month of nothing but grey walls and the occasinal silent Auror with the bland soup.

The boredom, loneliness and claustrophobia were driving Harry nuts.

He hated the monotony, abhored having nothing to do and believed "wasting time" to be a mortal sin. Fortunately, he had at least a couple things to busy himself with.

The first was Occlumency. His hormone levels weren't fluctuating wildly any longer, which enabled him to make progress on this art much, much faster than before. In March, all he was able to do was force an emotion down after a couple of seconds of effort or, aternatively, summon an emotion in a similiar timeframe. Theoretically, he could also detect mental intrusions.

Multiple times during his month of incarceration he thanked all deities he could think of (not many) that he'd read the Occlumency book enough times to remember the exercises. Before the first week was out, he'd managed to reach proficiency in the first stage - as in, he could near instaneously shift gears when it came to his emotions. When he fist went through the serenity-joy-rage-calm-fear-happiness-despair-serenity emotion chain exercise in six seconds, he was more satisfied with himself than when he finished his Cloak of Levitation.

He didn't stop there, though. Before the month in the cell was over, he made good progress in the second stage - which involved speeding up thought and controlling the signals your body gave you, dulling or sharpening any of his senses. He could now mute or empower his perception of hunger, thirst, pain, pleasure, cold, warmth and itching. As for the thought - he was able to speed the speed of his perception and reasoning twice for three seconds once an hour. Anything more and he developed a migrane.

As time-consuming as the practise was (very), Harry was forced to take occasional breaks. Then, the only way of killing time was deep thought.

Harry found himself wondering what kind of life he wanted for himself. For the first time in his life, endless "what-ifs" weren't suppressed immediately and allowed to play out in his imagination. During those evenings, amongs grey walls lit only by an illusionary window, he slowly and patiently thought on his past, present and future, re-evaluating his life, his principles. His priorities and decisions.

A teen entering adulthood came inside the cell on an April night. At the end of May, a young man emerged from it. Resigned. Hopeful. Afraid.

Above all, pissed off.

**24th May, Ministry of Magic**

As Fudge slowly and with visible enjoyment read out his opening speech, Harry observed the large hall in which his trial was taking place. It looked to him as a half of the Roman colloseum, only smaller and filled with politicians instead of spectators. It was nearly identical to the hall where the hearing about the mess on the Quidditch World Cup was conducted.

This time, though, he was judged for a murder he did not commit.

Only his superior control allowed him to remain calm and collected. He even slouched in the seat slightly and placed his chained hands on the armrests, looking for the world as if it was him judging the Wizengamot just to be obnoxious. A month of staring into the ceiling is not good for one's general disposition.

He saw a couple of familiar faces - the Dovager Logbottom was an obvious presense, giving him an approving and encouraging look - he believed she liked his countenance.

Madam Bones was stony-faced and didn't answer his nod of greeting. It seemed Susan told her of his views and their rather heated break-up. Harry knew she would at least try to be objective, but from what he heard of the woman, that break-up put him firmly on her shit-list.

Lucius Malfoy was also there, close to Fudge. The man projected smug superiority in a way that Harry saw only in the richest of pureblood kids in Hogwarts.

The most worrisome thing about the situation wasn't in who was in the room, though, but who wasn't.

"...Defence! Albus Percival. Wulfric. Brian. Dumbledore."

_Never you mind._ Harry allowed a smile to make a short appearance. His Headmaster had always liked drama.

"I must sincerely apologise for my tardiness, as it seems the owl sent to me had the time and place of this trial wrong," he continued, directing what seemed to be his best disappointed look at the Minister. Fudge went slightly green.

"Well, now that we are all here, I believe we can begin," Dumbledore continued with a slight smile.

"Ah, yes. The accused, one Harry James Potter, is on trial for the murder of Mark Reinth. How does he plead?"

"Not guilty," Harry called.

A soft murmur spread across the jury, and with that, the trial began.

Very soon, it became apparent that the Wizengamot was almost certain of the verdict and seemed to bother with the trial only for the sake of procedure. The evidence arrayed against Harry was indesputable, and the only way to beat it that Harry thought of involved Veritaserum, and it was inadmissable in court due to the fact that it could be easily tricked with Memory charms.

The wand with which, supposedly, the Killing Curse that killed Reinth was cast, undoubtedly belonged to Harry. He both had a motive and an opportunity to commit the crime. Even with Dumbledore poised to defend him, Harry's chances were slim.

And that was before Harry's extremely shaky reputation was brought up. He had already killed two people, and it was considered a further proof of his criminal character. Furthermore, it seemed that most people there bought into Skeeter's articles.

In short, he didn't have a chance.

All in all, the trial lasted less than an hour and by the end of it, Harry lost all hope. Still, he refused to lose his face along with his freedom. At the end, just before the verdict was to be called, he was given word.

He was laconic.

"I didn't kill Reinth - but you don't believe me. I am not nearly as much of an idiot as to leave the wand with Killing Curse residue right next to a corpse - but you do not care in the slightest. You refuse to see what is right in front of your eyes - but that is your modus operandi, and I am not surprised in the slightest. One thing, though, warms my heart right now: the day will come - a year or two in the future - when you will come to realise just what happened that day."

He was sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban two minutes later and his wand was broken in front of him.

He barely stopped a pained whimper at the sight. It felt like they broke a part of his soul.

He looked at Umbridge and promised to himself that one day, he will make her pay. Her and the rest of the people responsible for this.

Tonks walked purposely towards the holding cells, her hands in her pockets. No one paid her any mind right now - most Aurors in the Department were on duty in the courtroom where the trial commenced and the rest were busy with their own business. If anyone looked at her closely, though, it would become apparent that her right arm was looking slightly... off. Any veteran would recongise the illusion, but she banked on the fact that all high-rankers were stationed elsewhere.

When she reached the cell where Harry had been kept for the last month, she opened it and made a shoving motion with her left hand, as if pushing something invisible into the cell. This done, she walked away and leaned on the wall behind an out-of-the-way corner.

Standard procedure dictated that criminals were sent back to their cells before being shipped to Azkaban. It was needed as only a few dozen people at any given time were allowed entry to the island and it took some time to assemble an escort after the trial. Granted, this time, Fudge pulled some strings so that the required guard was ready by the time the trial began. This was an unforeseen complication, but Moody, brought into the conspiracy three days before, promised to take care of that.

The plan required only two things to happen to succeed: Harry had to return to his cell and be left alone for a minute. The Auror who usually stood guard nearby owed a favour to Tonks and was persuaded to leave for a second, so that she could suplosedly talk to Harry and ask him whether he really killed Reinth.

Said Auror - Henkels - soon came around, sparing her a nod and sitting down nearby.

Harry was marched to his cell some half an hour later, his face like a mask of stone. Dawlish, Fudge's pet, was the one escorting him and periodically pushed the teen to amuse himself. Tonks managed to see him sitting down on the cot and laying his head on his arms before the door swung shut.

Two minutes later, Tonks and Henkels were alone in the corridor.

"I'll give you a bit of privacy, but I'll stay here," the man grumbled. "If anyone learns about this, I'll be made a Juniour Auror again."

"I won't forget this, Karl," she responded, glancing inside the cell. Harry was still sitting on the cot and staring into space.

She opened the door and cast a small privacy charm. She knew for sure that Henkels was a man who stayed well away from other people's business, so she trusted him not to try to eavesdrop. If he did, well…

"Hey, Harry. You changed?"

"Yes," came a voice from the air straight ahead.

"Then follow me on my signal. I will get you out of here."

A short silence followed. Tonks felt the privacy spell shift slightly, indicating interference of some sort. She'd have to be careful with what she said.

"What was it like?" She asked eventually. "To face off with You-Know-Who."

There was a dry chuckle.

"It wasn't a face-off. I barely noticed that spell. One second he's all amicable and talking with me like we're discussing weather over the tea, the next moment I'm bound to a gravestone. And my reflexes aren't anything to sneeze at."

"That's... not reassuring," she muttered.

"It isn't."

"How did Reinth die, anyway?"

"Voldemort killed him before either of us even noticed the bastard."

"Huh. Well, I have to go. Keep your head down," she kept the door open for a moment more, until she felt something brush past her, and swung it shut.

She walked briskly past the pale Henkels (it seemed that he did catch at least some of their conversation) as he scuttled over to verify that Harry was still in his cell.

"Thanks, Karl. See you later," she threw over her shoulder and smirked slughtly as she heard him cast a basic illusion-detecting charm just in case.

She walked out of the Department, avoiding big crowds. From time to time she felt an invisible hand touch her arm in reassurment. They waited for the lift to arrive and went down to the Atrium. There, they were quickly approached by Dumbledore.

"Ah, Miss Tonks. You are free today, I presume?"

He was in a mood for some smoke and mirrors, it seemed.

"Well, I am here, professor," she responded dryly and the Headmaster chuckled.

"So I see. Your friends decided to meet tomorrow at the usual place. Same time, of course."

"Of course."

"Now, speaking of time, I am dreadfully late. If you will excuse an old wizard," he nodded to her and disapparated on the spot. Only someone watching really carefully would notice that he clutched something invisible at the last second.

Tonks smiled and sighed in relief. Now, she had to go and be seen somewhere else - just in case.

"Are you ready to continue?" Dumbledore asked, looking around and then at the doubled over figure of his student. Well, ex-student.

"A minute," the latter said queasily, trying to get a hold of his stomach. After taking some deep breaths, he straightened and nodded, still looking a bit green.

"I hate side-along apparition."

"Indeed, it is not a pleasant experience even to the practiced," the older of the two noted, striding away from the point where they appeared. "Shall we take a walk?"

"Where are we going, professor?" Harry asked, following and surveying his surroundings. They were in a city or a really big town, going by the sound of cars. Harry carefully adjusted his invisiblity cloak - it seemed like a supremely bad idea to wander the streets in plain view, dressed in plain white arestant's robes (which looked more like weird pyjamas) as he was.

"A safe house, Harry. We are still in London, if you were wondering."

They walked in silence for some time. Finally, Dumbledore stopped right next to a couple of perfectly ordinary houses and took out his wand, casting a couple of spells that Harry guessed were privacy charms.

"Now, I need you to listen carefully and memorise this sentence," the old wizard stopped for emphasis and, after checking that he had Harry's complete attention, said: "The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at #12 Grimmauld Place."

The moment he finished, Harry saw movement on his left. Instinctively, he turned sharply and his hand twitched to where the wand would normally reside.

Under his astonished gaze, the two houses they were standing near shifted to the sides, as if a giant pulled them away from each other, to give way to another building that appeared as if from nowhere.

A decrepit, forbidding building.

"Whoa," Harry muttered, thinking of the magic involved - hiding a house within what looked like a pocket dimension, utterly imperceavable to anyone who was not told the secret...

The secret.

"Was that Fidelius?"

"Very good," Dumbledore smiled approvingly. "This is, in fact, a modification of Fidelius. But I am afraid that explanations will have to wait."

With that, they entered the house. Inside, it was just as grim as the outside would suggest. Air was dry, dusty and slightly stale, as if the building was not visited by any living soul for a long time. Still, he heard quiet echoes of voices that said someone was here right now.

Slowly, Harry followed the headmaster through the narrow corridor, paying more attention to his surroundings than the rampaging thoughts in his head.

_What happened after my arrest?_

_What has Voldemort been up to?_

_Where are my friends?_

_And... what happens now?_

Harry shook his head sharply. He would get answers, but right now, these unending questions were pointless and only gave him a headache.

He saw Dumbledore pause for a second before the door from which the muffled voices came, as if gathering himself or listening in to determine who's there. After a moment, he opened it.

"Good evening to you all," he called out jovially, striding inside. He was greeted by multiple voices speaking at once.

"Albus? What happened? Is Harry..."

"Where's Harry?"

"Has everything gone alright?"

"Indeed, my friends, we have succeeded," he answered, shutting everyone down just by lifting his hand. "Harry is safe."

"Where is he, then?" A familiar, if strained with emotion, voice inquired.

"Right here, Hagrid," Harry said tiredly, walking in the room - which turned out to be a surprisingly clean kitchen. He managed to see that the room contained, besides the huge gatekeeper, Remus Lupin, a really small man that seemed to be vaguelly familiar and Professor McGonagall before nearly being bawled over by a large, hairy, black object that immediately transformed into his godfather and embraced him in a bear hug that made the teen's ribs creak ominously.

"Sirius... can't breathe," Harry managed, and was immediately released. The man still held him at arm's length, looking at him worriedly.

"How are you? How have you been?"

"Oh, just peachy," he groused, sitting down on an offered chair. After a month of complete inactivity, even such a short walk tired him. "Was held in a three by three grey cubicle for a month. Does wonders for one's disposition, if I do say so myself."

Nearly everyone there winced. Harry shook his head and brightened slightly.

"But that can wait. How did you get Hermione to sacrifice our extra credit project?"

"It was Ron's idea, actually," Sirius admitted. "He came up with the plan to free you. Well, most of it."

Harry grinned.

"Oh, I will have to give him something really good for Christmas. So, what did he come up with? Bait-and-switch?"

"Basically, yes," Dumbledore answered with a hint of pride in his voice. "He decided to enlist the assistance of me and Minerva to finish the golem you created. Brilliant work for your first try."

"The gait could really use some fixing up, though."

"Indeed. Today, if and when your trial would conclude with you being judged guilty, Tonks would switch you with the golem. Aside from a couple of minor hitches, it went according to plan. If it somehow was derailed, then we would switch you during your journey to Azkaban."

"Neat, short, easy to memorize," Harry nodded in approval. "Nice plan. Now, next question. What's been happening around here?"

"Nothing much," Sirius shrugged. "From what we hear," and his face darkened noticeably, "Voldemort is trying to solidify his position and start the recruitment anew. For now, though, he decided to lay low and not attract attention. It's a mixed blessing - he can't do anything overt until he is sure of his power, but seeing as Fudge refuses to admit the fact that we have a snake on the loose once again, he can wait for as long as he pleases before the grand reveal."

"So…" Harry tried to say something, but couldn't hold a large yawn.

"Yeah, I think you should go get some sleep before engaging in war talks," Sirius commented.

"I basically did nothing but sleep and stare into the ceiling all bloody month. Now, what were you guys up to?"

Harry was sitting in an armchair in his room (which was, once, the room of Sirius' brother, Regulus), staring into the flickering flames inside the fireplace. It had been three days since the trial.

In this time, he somehow managed to successfully manage to distract himself from deep thoughts by keeping himself occupied – helping Sirius in the on-going war against the house, the dirt, grime and magical pests within it, reading, composing letters to his friends, trying half-heartedly to recreate his levitating cloak and his casting glove and otherwise postponing any kind of decision-making.

Today, he decided that he procrastinated enough.

He turned his head slightly as he heard steps from behind the door, which almost immediately opened with a muffled squeak of tired metal.

"Harry?"

"Sirius," he acknowledged the hesitant greeting, continuing his staring contest with the fireplace.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Sirius closed the door, walked over to the other armchair and plopped down.

"Just thinking about the future," the teen said ponderingly.

"Oh? Do tell."

"With my conviction, any hope I had of continuing education in Hogwarts or even just living in Britain was crashed. Dumbledore wants us both to stay out of sight, in this house. That is… not an inspiring perspective. Who knows for how long this "house arrest" will last."

"You're preaching to the choir, Harry," Sirius grumbled, taking something out of his pocket. When the teen looked, he snorted – somehow, Sirius managed to carry a bottle of Firewhiskey and two glasses in his pockets. _Must have Invisible Extension on them. _

"Are you drinking?"

"I'm not of age. For shame, Messer Padfoot. Corrupting the impressionable youth, you alcoholic."  
"Yeah, right. You're sixteen in a couple of months. There's no way you hadn't gotten drunk at least once, not counting that time we dragged you through those bars last summer."

"Touché. Fine, give me a glass."

After filling the glasses and tasting the fiery drink, they lapsed in silence for a while. Finally, Sirius decided to break it.

"So, what other options do you think we have, then?"

Harry glanced at his godfather with surprise. He knew that the man was loyal to him fiercely – that loyalty being one of the only things he held onto in Azkaban, one of the things to carry him through what amounted to hell relatively sane, - but hearing him support his plan even before hearing it still surprised him. Harry drank a bit more whiskey, grimacing slightly at the burning sensation in his throat, nose and ears.

"Leave the country."

He threw a glance at Sirius and almost sighed in relief – his face held only curiosity and none of the disapproval he expected. Then his godfather opened his mouth.

"When do we leave, then?"

Harry's expression of shock slowly turned into a grin. Then he lifted his glass in a toast.

"To the poor, unsuspecting world that is certainly not ready for us."

"It won't know what hit it," Sirius grinned, returning the gesture.

They spent the rest of the evening discussing the specifics of their flight – or, as the older man, already somewhat tipsy, suggested, their "Evacuation of Awesomeness".

Screw the Ministry. Screw Voldemort. Screw Dumbledore, just in case. Harry Potter would not be stuck hiding in a secret residence for the rest of his life. He desperately desired freedom from being despised and adored for things he did not commit. He thirsted for knowledge, for arcane secrets of ancient civilizations and magic beyond his imagination. He wanted to see the world in its entirety – and show himself to the world as he really was.

He asked for this, in that blessed moment between wakefulness and sleep.

He asked, and his wish would be granted.


	21. Good news!

The sequel is UP!


End file.
